


Light of the Sun

by The_Pen_and_the_Sword



Series: The Immortal's Encore [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Gen, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Merlin's archnemesis is the butterfly effect, Time Travel Fix-It, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Pen_and_the_Sword/pseuds/The_Pen_and_the_Sword
Summary: A quiet winter has passed in Camelot following Arthur's coronation, but with spring comes Julius Borden, and the key to the tomb of Ashkenar. Merlin has saved the egg once, and he can do it again. However, between maintaining secrecy, the slippery nature of cause and effect, and unexpected obstacles within Merlin himself, it might prove a more challenging task than even he could anticipate. Yet no matter what, he must succeed. The fate of dragonkind depends on it. Part 3 of the Immortal's Encore.
Relationships: Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: The Immortal's Encore [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/963381
Comments: 119
Kudos: 150





	1. Prologue

Avery sat on a stump and stared into his lap, unheeding of the noisy camp around him. The whickering of restless horses, the clanking of armor and weapons, and the voices of the men fell on deaf ears. He had completed his squire’s duties more than an hour ago, so now all he had to do was wait. Wait and wonder and worry about the battle coming on the morrow. 

Being a squire had seemed such an adventurous thing at the start. It was the first step toward knighthood, and what boy in the Five Kingdoms didn’t dream of that? However, the fantasies of valor and glory were lessened significantly now that the prospect of real bloodshed was looming on the horizon.

Avery looked up from his faintly trembling hands and out across the land spread below them. The valley of Arderydd lay below them, a great swathe of green land dotted with farmsteads and copses of dark trees. A river like a great silver ribbon snaked a meandering path through the center. He had ridden through the valley a few times with his master on patrols, and it was normally a beautiful place. Whenever they would stop for breaks, he would lounge on the long grass, or scavenge for blackberries under the sun-shaded trees. All of that peaceful beauty was gone. The twilight was shaded with swollen clouds, and a cold wind was whistling through the evacuated valley and along its wooded slopes where the armies of Rheged lay in wait. And tomorrow Arderydd would be flooded with an invading force of Saxons, a force that they were meant to ambush and defeat.

The squire shivered underneath his cloak. It wasn’t much protection. He longed for a fire, but they had been commanded to light none. With the Saxons within a day’s march of them they could not hazard giving away their position. It would be a cold night, and probably a sleepless one too if his fears did not leave him be. _What miserable prospects_ , Avery thought as he shivered. _What I wouldn’t give to be back home in my father’s estate, eating hot stew and not waiting on bloodthirsty foreigners to hack my head off._

“Avery!” he heard a voice calling. It was Joseph, another squire that served under Sir Richard. “If you want sup, you’d better hurry, before Reynold gets it all.”

Supper probably meant a meager bit of bread and some dried meat, but better to go to bed miserable and full than miserable and hungry. Avery heaved himself off his stump and followed his fellow squire.

There was a gathering of most of his peers near the edge of the camp in a grove of tall juniper trees, the lot of them gnawing on hunks of bread and chattering. Most seemed downright excited, itching in their boots to wet their swords with enemy blood for the first time. A few others, like Avery himself, were quiet, and there was a matching gleam of fear in their eyes.

Reynold, as usual, was boasting about how many Saxon heads he was like to take on the morrow. “They won’t know what to do with themselves when they see me coming. My father had me a new sword made and everything. I bet you a silver piece I kill the most out of any of you.”

“Yeah, and then King Urien will knight you personally and betroth you to his daughter,” Joseph sneered. “I’d bet a gold piece you wet yourself at the first sign of a Saxon.”

Before Reynold could retort, or more likely take a swing at Joseph, one of the older squires cut him off. “You should be less worried about whose heads you’ll be taking and more about keeping your own on your fool neck. This isn’t play fighting in the yard with wooden swords anymore. Leave the glory to the experienced men and focus on staying alive.”

Avery shivered at the dire warning, but Joseph perked up. “Yeah, we don’t need Reynold to send those savages running. We’ve got plenty of fighters that’ll have them shaking in their boots. My master Sir Richard for one, and don’t forget Prince Garridan.”

“Yeah, and the Mad Sorcerer,” one voice piped up.

Avery turned his head in that direction, nervousness and curiosity both piqued. “We have a sorcerer?” he asked. “A mad one?”

“Oh yeah!” Joseph cried. “You’re at Dunworth, so you’ve never seen him. Myrddin they call him. Myrddin the Wild. He’s been in Prince Garridan’s company for a few months now, and I don’t think the prince ever wants to let him go. From what I hear, he’s a monster on the battlefield.”

“I hear he rides into battle with a flaming sword and flaming eyes, and the enemies are so scared they drop dead at the sight,” called out one boy.

“That’s nonsense,” grunted the older squire, but Avery was rather intrigued. He’d never seen a sorcerer before. He had always rather hoped he would, but it seemed magic users were a dying breed in Albion. “Is he really mad?” he asked.

Joseph shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. I’ve never talked to him, and only seen him from a distance.”

“Well, where’d he come from?”

“Don’t know that either, though there are all kinds of stories. Some people think King Urien hired him to protect his son. Others say he served another king, but when that king was killed in battle he went on the warpath. And still others,” he said, dropping to a dramatic whisper, because Joseph was prone to theatrics, “say he’s a vengeful spirit that was burned alive by Saxons, and now he hunts them down for the rest of eternity.”

“Oh come off it,” Avery retorted, but he couldn’t help feeling a little unease. After all, this was sorcery they were talking about. Who knew what it was capable of.

“What a load of horse shite,” Reynold said loudly and crudely. “Probably just a petty little magician.”

“Well, petty or not, we might see him tomorrow on the field. I’ll be keeping an eye out,” said Joseph.

The older squire seemed to have had enough of the fireside tales, though they lacked a fire. “What you’ll be keeping an eye out for are Saxons and their blades, not a ruddy wizard. If any of you make it out of this alive, I’ll be shocked. I’m going to bed, and I’d suggest you all do the same. Though it’s not like anyone listens to me around here anyway,” he grumbled, stomping off toward the tents. 

For all his cynicism, most of the squires did end up following his lead. Avery’s stomach did loops and twirls all the way back to his meager little tent. Talk of war heroes and sorcerers was a good distraction as long as it was going, but once the boy was nestled into his bedroll and listening to the sounds of the army bedding down, his fear came flooding back. His last thought before his eyes slipped shut was how he wished for a little bit of magic for his own. It might help him survive the battle. 

It hardly felt like a few seconds had passed before he was being shaken awake. “Whaa—“ he slurred, blinking stupidly. The face of his master Sir Eldon swam into focus. 

“Get up, Avery. We are to march soon.”

Avery’s heart jumped into his throat. Eldon must have seen the fear on his face, for he gave the boy a firm pat on the shoulder. “I doubt you have anything to worry about. You and the other new squires will be on the flank, making sure none of them escape, and we certainly don’t intend to let any of them get free from our net.” The knight gave a confident grin. “Come now, we must make ready.”

His master’s confidence was a great help, but Avery’s fingers still trembled as he helped Sir Eldon into his armor and prepared the horses. The Saxons were due to arrive at the designated spot at the height of morning, but their own armies were meant to be in position long before then. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and the fading night was rife with mist and frigid cold. The trampled grass and the soldier pines looming around their camp were stiff with hoarfrost. 

Avery didn’t hear the call to march go out, but when the knights began to mount up and the foot soldiers hefted up their spears he knew it was time. Panting out great clouds of breath, Avery swung himself up onto the back of his brown palfrey, glad for the creature’s steadiness. If it had been a skittish beast, Avery’s own fear would have made things that much more difficult. 

“Are you ready?” Sir Eldon asked as he rode up on his powerful dark destrier. 

“Y-Yes, sir.” He felt anything but ready, but he would go. He would not return to his father’s house and say he had been a coward. 

“Good.” With a kick, Sir Eldon spurred his beast forward, Avery hurrying along at his tail. Together they melded into the greater host as they moved out. Their destination was not far. There was a place where the valley narrowed significantly while the river widened. At that point the trees grew down close to the river bank. It would be slim ground, and an easy thing to take the Saxon host by surprise from the front and back. They were in position for the rear attack by the time the first milky, obscured rays of the sun broke the cloudy horizon. With it came the first sight of the Saxon host. Avery might have turned tail and fled right then if he hadn’t been surrounded by his fellow squires, although he might not have been alone if he did. Even Reynold looked pale when they took in the sheer numbers of the enemy host entering the valley below them. Avery tried very hard to remember what Eldon had told him, that tactics and position could win over numbers nine times out of ten. He could only hope this would be one of those nine times and not the one. Most of their host had split off to lead the ambush. Those left behind on the forested slopes could only wait in dreading anticipation, watching through the trees as the enemy host crept past. 

When the first cries and clashing sounds of battle came ringing up through the trees, Avery clutched his sword hilt so tightly his knuckles went white. _Only guarding the flank, only guarding the flank_ , he told himself over and over again. He just hoped Sir Eldon would be safe. 

“There are so many,” Joseph said faintly. He was perched on a rock, peering through a gap in the trees. 

“Spot any sorcerers?” Reynold groused, wrapped firmly in his cloak. The cloud cover was breaking a bit, letting a few foggy shafts of sunlight pour down, but the cold was refusing to retreat. 

“Couldn’t spot much of anything in that chaos.”

They continued to wait for what felt like hours and hours. The initial battle cries began to morph into pained yells and the shrieks of injured horses. Just guarding the flank. Just guarding the flank.

It must have been past noon by the time the sounds began to grow fainter. Avery’s heart lifted, but one of the remaining knights made sure he didn’t get his hopes up too far. “They’re routed. Now’s when we most need to be wary. There will undoubtedly be deserters.”

Avery peered down the shaded slope. He clutched his sword tighter. 

It wasn’t long before the knight’s prediction came true. The thunder of footsteps rolled toward them, and running silhouettes started appearing out of the mists.

“ATTACK!” 

Doing his best to swallow his rabbiting heart back into its proper place, Avery sprang up. One of the fleeing Saxons was coming right at him. 

Avery’s first kill was an easy one. The man was injured in the head, seemed hardly coherent. However, the body barely had time to slide off the sickened boy’s blade before another of the invaders was barreling down on him. 

Their swords met three times, three hard clashes that set the squire’s bones rattling. The Saxon was much bigger than he was, and on the fourth strike Avery’s guard was broken. The squire ducked a wild swing, letting out a panicked yell. 

“Avery!” a voice cried out. Then the big Saxon was dropping to the ground, Joseph’s sword buried in his back.

“Thanks,” Avery panted. 

They didn’t have time to settle. A hoarse cry went up from their commanding officer. “There’s more of them coming! Too many! Fall back!”

Avery and Joseph scrambled forward, the steep hill and damp mulch sliding beneath their feet and hindering their progress. They could hear them coming, all howling and pounding feet.

Then Joseph’s foot caught on a root. Avery whirled back around, grabbing for his friend. “Come on!” he screamed, but when he looked up a massive warrior was already bearing down on them. His huge battle-ax was raised to split them in half like melons. _It’s over_ , Avery thought. 

It would have been for the both of them, if a horse had not exploded from the trees at that moment. The rider on its back was clothed all in dark colors, and in his hand he held a flaming arc in the shape of a sword. With a single slash of the blazing weapon, the Saxon fell to the ground dead. 

Avery and Joseph gaped up at their rescuer. “It’s him,” Joseph whispered. “The sorcerer.”

Said sorcerer turned to look at them in that moment. A dark beard covered his gaunt cheeks and equally black curling hair draped down over his forehead, but even then Avery could see the golden glow of his eyes. “Get out of here!” he ordered, wheeling his horse around. 

Eager to obey, Avery hauled Joseph to his feet and pushed them into a sprint away from the shifting battlefield. As they ran, though, Avery spared one glance back over his shoulder. The sorcerer Myrddin was charging down the advancing line of Saxons who, at the sight of the mounted man wielding a hellish blade, switched from advancing to retreating as quickly as they could. 

“If we survive this,” gasped Joseph as they fled, “I bet we’ll have the best story out of all the squires.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

* * *

  
“So you’re telling me,” one of the squires said incredulously, “that you two were saved by Myrddin the Wild himself?”

“We were,” Joseph declared, raising his voice to be heard over the celebratory clangor of the camp. He took a casual swig from a mug of mead before deigning to give his audience further detail. “We would have been Saxon food if not for him. Just came barreling out of the mist like a charging bull, and with one strike, wham! Off goes the big brute’s head!”

Avery shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Let Joseph have his moment of slightly exaggerated glory.

“Then he turns to us, and I can see why they call him wild, with that hair and beard. Tells us to go, and we’re smart, so we went. But we saw him run down those Saxons like a sheepdog in a flock. You should have seen them scarper,” he hooted. “And all those stories about a flaming sword and eyes are true, too. Ask Avery, he saw it just as plain as I did.”

“Very impressive,” sneered Reynold. “Got your scrawny arses saved by a freak. That’s really something to sing about.”

“You’re just bitter because you didn’t kill even one Saxon today,” someone else jeered back. “I think you owe a few of us a silver piece.” Laughter erupted and Reynold turned beet red.

Avery suddenly sat up straight, eyes going wide. “Look! It’s him.”

Every head, even Reynold’s, swiveled in that direction. Sure enough, a shaggy-headed man in dark clothes was picking his way through the camp. It seemed their little circle wasn’t the only one that had gone quiet either. The general area around them seemed more hushed. Myrddin didn’t seem to notice. He collected some stew from one of the cook fires, and then retreated to a spot just barely within the firelight but beyond the borders of the tents. After a few moments, everything went back to normal. 

“Someone should go talk to him,” one of the squires piped up.

“Are you mad?” Avery asked. A few other boys said much the same as he did, but a look that Avery did not like at all was creeping over most of the faces in the circle. He felt a bet coming on. 

Sure enough...

“I bet Handmaid Avery can’t go talk to him without fainting.” Reynold, of course. He seemed keen to spread a little of his humiliation around, lessen the load. Avery’s fists clenched. Refusing a bet amongst this lot would saddle him with the label of coward faster than he could blink, and that meant hassling and pranks for weeks to come. Still, as grateful as he was to be sitting here alive, he really didn’t want to go up to the sorcerer all by himself. On the battlefield was one thing, but how would that reputed “madness” display itself now?

“If you want someone to go, I’ll do it,” Joseph said.

“We all know you’d eat shite if it got you a few coins,” Reynold dismissed. “Let Avery do it. After all, since he’s a hardened Saxon killer now, this should be nothing.”

He couldn’t refuse. The last time he’d failed a bet, all of his shoes had gone missing. He’d had to finish two days of patrol barefoot. Avery bolted upright, fists locked at his sides. “Fine. I’ll do it. Besides, it’s only honorable that I thank him for saving our lives.” Then he turned on his heel and stalked toward the camp border, trying to look confident and not like his stomach was tying itself into knots. He hoped the sorcerer wasn’t short-tempered.

As he walked, Avery planned to keep things short and simple. He would thank Myrddin for saving him and Joseph, maybe compliment him on his fighting, and then get out. Unfortunately, all plans flew out of his head when the sorcerer noticed his approach. By the time Avery reached him, it seemed he’d lost the concept of speech entirely. 

The sorcerer’s keen eyes—blue, he saw, no longer glowing gold—watched him curiously. The squire’s jaws flapped uselessly. “I-I uh, I just, well…”

The blue eyes slid away from Avery and peered toward the camp. Then to the squire’s surprise, Myrddin turned back to him with an amused smirk lighting his bearded face. “Let me guess,” he said, silencing Avery’s stutters, “You’re here on a bet?” 

Avery shook his head wildly. Would that be offensive, that he’d only come to talk because he had been dared to?

The smirk changed into a full smile, and suddenly the scruffy sorcerer didn’t seem half so intimidating as he had moments before. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s perfectly all right. From what I’ve heard, more money changes hands between this group of squires than at a merchants’ market. Besides, you look like you would rather be anywhere else right now.” His tone became surprisingly sympathetic. 

“S-Sorry,” Avery muttered, though his heart rate was slowing down. That definitely could have been worse.

“No worries,” Myrddin said. “All those rumors and stories give me a bit of a fierce reputation. Not a totally deserved one either. I swear, knights gossip more than fishwives.”

Avery nodded, feeling a bit foolish and ashamed. “I guess I should go, then.”

A twinkle entered the sorcerer’s eye. “There’s no need.” When Avery looked up in confusion, Myrddin gave a slight nod toward the camp. “Your friends are watching. I imagine they’ll be more impressed the longer you stay. Get them off your back for a while.” The sorcerer patted the ground in a friendly manner. “Have a seat.”

Caught between lingering embarrassment and the desire to show off his courage for his friends, Avery cautiously folded himself to the ground. Bouncing one knee and not quite meeting the sorcerer’s eye, he said what he had meant to at the start. “Thank you. For saving my life. And Joseph’s life too. He can be an idiot and a loudmouth sometimes, but he’s my friend, so…thank you.”

The sorcerer let out a slight laugh that trailed off until only a faint smile remained. “I know the feeling,” he said softly. When they locked gazes again, Avery thought he saw sadness in those pale blue eyes. “You’re very welcome.” The sorcerer held out a hand. “I’m sure my name’s been spread all around the camp, but I suppose it’s best to be official. I’m Myrddin.”

The squire took the hand and shook it. “Avery.”

“Well met, Avery.” Myrddin smiled again. 

A brief silence fell between them, but determined not to let things become awkward, Avery blurted out, “You looked fierce to me.”

“What?”

Blushing a bit, Avery explained. “You said you hadn’t earned a fierce reputation. You looked fierce to me, when you ran down the Saxons.”

The sorcerer let out an amused chuckle. “Well, most people would with a flaming sword and dark clothes, but that’s all it is, really. If you’re willing to keep it a secret..." Myrddin's voice lowered, and he leaned closer in a conspiratorial manner. "The theatrics and magic show are all I have going for me," he whispered. "I’m absolute rubbish with a sword."

Avery couldn’t help but let out a snicker of his own this time. Myrddin really wasn’t so bad. He snuck a peek over his shoulder. All of the squires were staring wide-eyed at him. Giddy triumph fluttered in his stomach.

“So what house do you belong to, Avery?” Myrddin asked, pulling his attention back. 

“House Calmette at Dunworth,” he replied. “My father’s the steward to the lord there.”

“You’re a ways from home then. How has squiring treated you?”

Before Avery was truly aware, he and the sorcerer were deep in conversation, about Avery’s home, his squiring duties, his friends, and his hopes for knighthood. Myrddin was an attentive listener, and a kindly one. Somehow it reminded Avery of talking to his grandfather, though the sorcerer couldn’t have been much older than thirty. It was just so easy to lose himself in stories about eventful patrols and that one time he got thrown off his horse into a prickle bush with Myrddin nodding along, asking questions, and laughing in all the right spots. It wasn’t until Myrddin had a long stretch that Avery noticed how low the fires had burned and how much quieter the night had become.

“It’s late,” Myrddin said. “You should probably get back to your friends, or your master.”

Avery felt a twinge of disappointment, but he didn’t want to impose. He stood stiffly. “All right. Um, well…thank you again, Sir Myrddin. For the rescue and the talk and all.”

“Just Myrddin’s all right. I’m not a knight and doubtfully ever will be. But you’re very welcome, for the rescue and the talk.” The sorcerer stood, his long frame towering over Avery. “Rest well, and don’t forget to collect those winnings,” he added with a wink. Then Myrddin strode off, disappearing among the crowd of tents. 

When Avery got back to the spot where all the squires had set up, Joseph nearly bowled him over in excitement. “Look at this!” he cried, shoving a soup bowl into Avery’s face.

It was almost full to the brim with silver coins, winking brightly in the fading firelight. 

* * *

  
Merlin lay on his back, facing up toward the low canvas ceiling of his tent. The snores, grunts, and the shuffling of horses outside told him that most of the camp was sleeping, but he was having trouble joining them.

His muscles ached deeply, but that wasn’t the cause of his lack of sleep. He was growing used to that soreness, strange as it was. He had never imagined he would become accustomed to the sword and its physical tolls, yet here he was fighting in an army. A foreign army in a foreign land, serving a king not his own.

Merlin shut his eyes tightly. _Don’t think about that_. He rolled over and nestled in, trying to banish all thoughts of the past. _Nothing lies behind you, so don’t look back._ He kept repeating the mantra, chasing out the cobwebs of his old life with the trappings of his new false one. Myrddin Wyllt, sorcerer mercenary, in service to King Urien of Rheged. By doing this, he could shield himself at least for a short time, enough to run into the shelter of sleep. He got close.

_Merlin…_

Merlin twitched, shifting in his bedroll. He tried even harder to drift off.

_Merlin…_

His eyes flicked opened.

_Merlin…_

The warlock sat up. An intense worry sprang up in his gut, driving away the vestiges of sleep. This could not be ignored. _Kilgharrah?_ he called out mentally. _What’s wrong?_

_You must come, Merlin…My time…is almost over._

Worry morphed into panic, and then that shattered into grief, lodging like shards of ice in his heart and lungs. _Kilgharrah, I…you can’t…_

_Please, Merlin. You must come. I would have words with you, before I go._

Mindlessly, Merlin shoved his feet into his boots, threw his cloak over his shoulders, and pushed out of the tent. The camp was asleep, aside from the perimeter guards, but those were easy enough to get past. He picked his way through the tents as quietly as he could, only knocking into one stray cooking pot, and then there was just forest beyond. Following their connection, Merlin hurried through the dark forest, feet rustling on the pine needles. 

It took him maybe half an hour to reach a sloped clearing up the hills from the campsite. It was overgrown and littered with fallen, skeletal tree trunks. Among them lay the Great Dragon. Merlin’s breath was robbed at the sight. Kilgharrah’s once golden and umber scales had faded to gray, and seemed to be flaking off. His wings lay askew and bent awkwardly. His long neck and head were draped over one of the tree trunks, facing toward Merlin. The dragon’s golden eyes, once sharp and discerning, had grown dull. The light in them was almost gone.

Merlin approached, in horror and in respect. The dragon’s eyes shifted to him. 

“Y-Young…warlock.” His voice rasped from his throat like the last note of a dying organ. “I fear…this is the end.”

“You should have saved your strength,” Merlin growled, stepping up beside Kilgharrah’s head. “Why did you come here?”

“My time was almost up…regardless of what I did. I’ve known it was coming for… some time now. I would rather…die beside my dragonlord…than alone.”

Merlin swallowed harshly, but he couldn’t stop the first tears from trickling down his face. “Kilgharrah, you can’t go. Please don’t. You’re the only one left.” He placed his hand beneath the dragon’s eye, staring pleadingly into its dull, golden depths. “You’re the last dragon. Aithusa…” He had to stop for a moment. More tears fell, and faster. “I failed Aithusa. I failed everyone. You’re the only one left. Arthur and Gwen, my mother, Gaius, the knights… they’re all gone. You can’t leave me alone.” Was it so selfish to ask this? That at least they could go on being alone together?

“I am…sorry, young warlock.” A horrific choking noise rumbled in the dragon’s chest, but he managed to strangle it down. “But I am old. Even my life must come to an end, and it seems…the dragons must come to an end as well,” he wheezed.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Merlin asked despairingly. Even now he could feel Kilgharrah’s life leaving him. “There is nothing for me in Camelot any longer, and without the dragons either, what is my purpose? Why am I like…this?” he spat out. One hand unconsciously went to his chest. He had been struck a mortal blow there not too long ago, and yet here he still stood. 

Kilgharrah’s dull eye fixed on him. “I cannot tell you for sure…but there are yet tasks that await you in this world. Until they are complete, you will… remain.”

Merlin’s head bowed. He felt as if the weight of the world was falling on his shoulders. “I don’t want to be alone, Kilgharrah. What am I to do?”

“Endure.” The dragon choked again, and his great body spasmed. “You must…endure.” 

“Kilgharrah?!”

The beast growled before collapsing into heaving pants. “I don’t have much longer. Merlin…I have one final request.”

“…Anything.”

“Step back.”

Merlin retreated, his shoulders shaking. The dragon struggled half-upright, both fore-paws planted on the ground. Then, with all the strength he seemed to have left, Kilgharrah let out a great exhale, breath shimmering like heat above a flame. Merlin let the warmth wash over him, but his eyes widened when he saw the white tongues of dragon fire beginning to dance in the stream of draconic magic. He didn’t move, though. Then, with a last great blast that dragged a roar from Kilgharrah’s throat, Merlin was consumed in a column of snow-pale flames. It was unbearably hot, he could feel it, but he felt no compulsion to escape it. The pain it brought was somehow right, and when the fire sputtered out and died, Merlin was unburnt. 

Kilgharrah collapsed. The last of the light was gone from his eyes.

Merlin stumbled forward. “Kilgharrah?” he whispered. Numbness crept like poison into his limbs.

The dragon didn’t move. There was no breath. Merlin could feel his knees giving out when a voice spoke in his mind. It was faint and fading, but there. He listened raptly as the dragon whispered his final words.

_I have given you my flame, Merlin, the last of all dragon fire in this world…With it, I beg of you, burn away my body as my brethren would have done for me…And once I am gone, keep the memory of dragons alive with you. Hold our flame in your heart…and we…will never…truly…die._

Then he was gone.

Merlin sank to his knees. He was alone now, well and truly alone. All his family and friends, his dragon kin, even his enemies had all departed. And he remained.

A twig snapped behind him. Too spent and heart-weary to muster a greater reaction, Merlin turned his head. A boy had entered the clearing, sandy-haired and wide-eyed with shock.

“Avery,” he murmured. Should he be angry or worried that the boy had followed him? That he might have heard what was said? Maybe. He felt too numb to care.

The squire inched forward, awe and confusion and fear written all over his face. “M-Myrddin? Sir? That’s a…that’s a dragon! Or it was…”

“Yes,” Merlin said dully, heaving himself to his feet. “He was the last dragon.” The world was adrift around him, and he couldn’t respond to anything. What now? What could he possibly do now? “What are you doing here?”

The boy gulped, ducking his head. “I’m sorry! I-I just heard you leaving camp — you tripped on a pot — and I was just…curious I guess. I’ll leave.”

“No,” Merlin said. “There’s no need. I’m not angry. In fact,” he paused, thinking for a moment. Yes, this at least felt right. “There should be at least one other person here. Another witness to remember the dragons.”

“Sir? I mean, Myrddin?”

Merlin didn’t reply. Instead he turned to the great body. Such a withered thing it looked now, like a skin shed from a snake. A shameful thing for such a powerful creature of magic to leave behind. His hand rose, palm out flat, and his eyes closed. He felt the dragon fire within him, a living thing, like a pulse of lightning racing through his veins with every heartbeat. The words came to him as if he’d been born to speak them.

_“Fotiá drákous.”_

It was like he had summoned the sun. A flash of brilliant light consumed the clearing, and a wave of heat spread outward. He heard Avery cry out in fear behind him, but Merlin paid it no mind. This fire was under his control, and it could not harm them. He opened his eyes. The dragon’s corpse made the largest pyre he had ever seen, but it was a comforting sight. Fire belonged to dragons, and they belonged to fire. And now, so did he. 

He stood and watched as it burned away the remains, first scales and skin, and then the flesh and bone beneath. The fire only died out when all that was left were ashes.

Merlin was mildly surprised to find that Avery was still there. His eyes were still wide, but there was something reverential in them that seemed to recognize that he’d been witness to a momentous thing: the passing of the last dragon. 

A chill wind blew across the hill, rattling the dry stalks of grass. “You should go back to camp,” Merlin said quietly.

Avery snapped out of his stupor. “Are you not coming back too?” he asked, puzzled.

Merlin frowned. He realized that he really didn’t have any intention to return to Rheged’s camps. Not at all. It was not much of a shock. He had never intended to make a home here. Camelot lay behind him, and now he was clinging to whatever scraps of his old loyalties he could find, slaying Saxons and serving kings. It seemed that too was coming to an end.

“No.”

“Do you…need to bury the ashes or something?”

“No. I’m not going back. Ever.”

Avery started, looking dismayed. “Why not?” 

Merlin looked behind him at the charred patch of ground. “The last dragon is dead. Things have changed. I just have to go.”

Avery opened his mouth to protest it, stopped himself, and then closed it again, nodding sadly. Merlin wondered if he had felt the shifting of the world as well. “Where will you go?” he asked timidly.

Merlin looked into the sky. Strangely, the glinting stars did not seem so far away anymore. 

“Who knows?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin a new segment of the story! 
> 
> As before, I'll be updating weekly to bi-weekly. I'll also be replying to comments more, since it feels kind of aloof when you all take the time to leave your thoughts and excitement for me to read without taking the time myself to engage with it and thank people chapter by chapter. So! Until next chapter :)


	2. Respite in Winter

A light snow drifted down on Camelot, dusting trees and fields and thatched rooftops with a white coverlet. It all glowed pale even in the indigo twilight that came before predawn. Merlin craned his neck further out his open window to relish the chill and the soft patter of flakes as they landed on rooftops and ground. There was something rejuvenating in it, especially when tonight had been one of those nights his body was rejecting sleep. That happened sometimes. The night air was proving a good substitute. He’d had the window open all night, enjoying the cold without ever having it pierce him. His blood flowed hot, and if he focused he could still feel the electrifying after-pulse that raced on the steps of every heartbeat, a millisecond of glorious pain and the power that followed it; Kilgharrah’s flame, as strong as it had been the day it was given to him.

Speaking of Kilgharrah, it seemed Merlin wasn’t the only one keeping watch over a sleeping Camelot. That fire living in his chest did more than keep him warm. Somewhere out there in the cloud cover, Merlin could feel the dragon circling high above. He had made a habit of doing that over the last few months.

_Waiting for me to blow up Camelot, no doubt, and spoil my destiny,_ Merlin thought wryly. What Kilgharrah hoped to accomplish by hovering, Merlin didn’t know; the dragon had no power or incentives with which to dissuade the warlock from his course. Perhaps he was just letting nervousness get the best of him. How strange was that, _Kilgharrah_ possibly being nervous.

Merlin frowned, sucking at his teeth as he leaned against the window frame. He would have to do something about the dragon. The heavy tension that still hung between them after a few terse talks and dodgy conversations about the future could not continue. Kilgharrah was both his kin and a valuable ally in the preservation of magic. And, though Merlin was reluctant to show it, he had missed the dragon. He’d been rather horrible at showing it, but Kilgharrah had to know where things stood. A proper discussion was going to have to happen, probably sooner rather than later. The timeline was moving forward and soon Merlin’s business would be quite wrapped up in dragons.

He finally shut the window and retreated to his bed. On the nightstand beside it, one of Gaius’ tomes sat waiting. Merlin picked it up and flipped back to where he had been before: the entry on dragons. Pitifully short with just a few pages — after all, a comprehensive book on any magical creature wouldn’t have flown under Uther’s rule — but it was unique in that Merlin himself had a place in it. He read it over again in the dim light of his flickering candle. 

_Dragons were never a populous species due to the lack of drive in breeding, likely because of their long life spans. Female dragons were known to lay up to three clutches throughout their lives, often with only one egg at a time. These eggs could only be hatched at the command of a Dragonlord, a lineage of humans that shared an inexplicable bond with and power over dragons. Not much is known of this heritage; whether the dragons came first and the lords later, or vice versa, or for what purpose the two species were connected remain mysteries. What is known is that Dragonlords in conjunction with their dragons were a powerful force. A lord with even two adult dragons at his behest could turn the tides of even the bloodiest wars, or else shatter the most firmly rooted peace._

It was the most information Merlin had ever seen about Dragonlords on a page. Sadly, it was all information he already knew, or else could guess easily enough. For all his years alive and everything he’d learned, that was one blank spot in his own history he had never been able to fill, only ever catching traces. Yet another reason to bridge that gap between himself and the Great Dragon. He shut the book again and leaned back against the wall. He could try reaching out mentally now, but he would prefer to be face to face. _Soon,_ he thought. _When spring comes._ That wouldn’t be too much longer. It was mid-February now. Not much longer at all.

The candle, down to a stub, sputtered a bit, and Merlin felt a small tug of weariness. He rolled his neck and stretched out his legs, let his eyes slide shut for just a moment…

Snow flurried in the dark, falling to the ground with sweet notes like crystal bells. The light of the moon caught the flakes and set each to white flame like little stars. A shadow passed overhead. A great wing. He realized he was standing at the edge of a frozen lake that was rapidly thawing. The water was as smooth and perfect as a mirror, but he couldn’t see his reflection in it. _Where am I?_ he asked, but got no response.

The wing shadow passed over again, and this time there was a roar. Or was that the wind? When he looked up, he realized it was not the moon glowing in the sky, but a star, a star so bright the night sky had never known its equal. Then a voice echoed all around him. His father’s voice. _Move towards the light,_ it said. _Your destiny awaits._ The star shone brighter, brighter, brighter. So white. He shrank back. No…

_Do not be afraid. Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be._

_No!_

It was too bright, too white. He collapsed to his knees, arms shielding his eyes. He wanted the darkness back. The light was cold and cruel and empty, it was stealing his warmth, it was stealing _him_ , stripping off his flesh and bones and leaving his own lonely light to be consumed in that flood. Then he would be nothing. 

Merlin opened his eyes, throat closed and heart throbbing so hard he felt rather ill. It felt like only a minute or so had passed, but daylight was peeping through the cracks in his rattling shutters. He thumped his head back against the wall, hard. The rattling stopped, but his spine and the back of his neck throbbed. Merlin groaned, twisting in bed, rubbing a hand across his face as he tried to ignore the trembling. An ominous dream. At least he knew it wasn’t a vision. He was no seer, and even visions caused by outside sources had a whole other quality to normal dreams. If one could call that normal.

He sat up, the creature tome sliding off his chest. The best remedy for his dreams was drowning them out with any means available. Alcohol tended to work, but that was more than a little suspect, especially at this time of the day. Busyness was second best, and he had an idea. He padded out of his room on bare feet, keeping his steps light. With Gaius snoring away nearby, Merlin took quick stock of their stores, frowning a bit. Not much to work with, but he could manage. Gathering up what he thought he could use, he set about making breakfast as quietly as possible. 

The effort proved fruitless once the smell of eggs and porridge began filling the room. Merlin heard Gaius stirring behind his bed screen before a sleepy and befuddled, “Merlin?” drifted out to him.

“Yes, Gaius?”

“What are you doing?”

“Making breakfast.”

He heard creaking and then bare feet slapping on the floor. He didn’t look up, his attention on the slices of brown bread he was toasting on the stones of the fireplace.

“What on earth are you doing up? I don’t think I’ve seen you voluntarily awake this early since you came to Camelot.”

Merlin pressed his lips together at his own fumble, but he was swift with the save. “It got cold in my room, woke me up. I thought if I was going to be awake a few extra hours, might as well spend them by a warm fire.” He lifted the bread free and put it on a platter. 

“Oh. I see. Well, thank you. It smells quite good.”

Merlin stood and gestured toward their cluttered table. “Have a seat,” he said with a friendly smile. 

Gaius complied, looking sleep-rumpled in his nightshirt and still a bit confused. Merlin spooned porridge into bowls and small piles of eggs onto the bread slices. Gaius’ bewilderment only seem to grow when his plate was placed in front of him. When he tried a spoonful of the porridge, his eyes widened.

“All right?” Merlin asked.

“Yes. It’s delicious actually.” One of those bushy white eyebrows rose. “Since when have you been able to cook like this?”

“Have you ever tasted my cooking?” Merlin replied, really hoping this wasn’t going to cause an issue. Truth was, he enjoyed cooking; he’d become quite good at it over the years, and it was one of his more favored hobbies. He liked good food and the activity was soothing. Surely he was allowed to indulge himself in this at least?

Gaius paused for a moment before conceding, “No, I suppose not. I can’t say I’m not a little miffed. If I had known, I wouldn’t have had to do the cooking on my own all these years.” He tried the eggs. “In fact, I might assign that duty only to you from now on. How did you get that flavor?”

“I crumbled cheese in them, added a few herbs,” Merlin said with a small smile. The compliments touched him more deeply than he thought they would.

They ate in contented silence for a time before Gaius began speaking again. “Seeing as you’re up so early, would you make some deliveries for me before attending to Arthur? This weather hasn’t been terribly kind on my old bones.”

“Certainly, Gaius.”

“Just the usuals about the castle, shouldn’t take you very long.”

“Yes.” Merlin paused for just a second to recall. “Gerald with the house staff, Elaine in the scullery, and Sir Olwyn. The weevil.” 

Gaius nodded, the corner of his lips quirked. It seemed Merlin had gotten them all right. “Exactly.”

“I’ll deliver them on my way to the kitchens.”

Merlin swallowed the last bit of his porridge and began to rise.

“Merlin, wait a moment.”

The warlock paused. “What is it?”

The physician leaned forward, elbows folded on the table, not tense at all. “How are you, my boy?”

Merlin blinked once, twice. “All right, I suppose,” he said confusedly. “Why do you ask?”

Gaius peered directly into Merlin’s eyes, not suspicious but searching. “It seems to me you’ve been much quieter of late. I haven’t had to pull you out of any sort of ridiculous situation since the autumn. Something’s different.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “So the fact that I’m being less of a nuisance is cause to think something’s wrong?” he asked dryly.

Gaius’s lips thinned and he said nothing, waiting. 

Merlin sighed, sitting down, any and all wariness kept carefully hidden. “Really, there’s nothing to worry about. Just…a lot’s changed lately. Arthur’s king now. He has to deal with all of that, and I have to be there to help, make sure he doesn’t go insane.” He offered a slight smile. “I guess I’ve just been caught up in things. Wondering about the future.”

Gaius’s expression softened. “I’d thought so. How is Arthur, do you think? He’s always put on a brave face for the sake of his people, but he’s not made of iron. It’s only been a few months.”

“He’s handling it well. As well as we could expect.” For that, Merlin was glad. He had been concerned about how harshly Arthur would take his father’s death with the blame he seemed to place on himself, but it seemed at least some of Merlin’s words had gone through. The new king was still prone to fits of melancholy, but the loss wasn’t consuming him. “We just have to make sure he takes some time to himself, to process. Gwen’s been a great help there. Better than me actually. He’s a lot less likely to toss a shoe at her.”

Gaius’s hands, not yet covered up in the usual fingerless gloves, folded together. “And you, Merlin? How are you handling all this?”

Merlin studied his own hands for a moment, resting on the table and curled inward. The fingers of the left hand started drumming out a discordant rhythm on the wood. “I’ve been wondering what comes next. Destiny’s a tricky thing to grasp.”

“That it is, but don’t forget, Merlin, you cannot know everything to come, much less control it. You’re just a man, after all.”

“Oh I know. Why do you think I’m worried?” 

The tapping stopped. Merlin suddenly felt that it was best he left this conversation. He leaned back and turned his head to the window, where the light of day was growing brighter. “I’d best be going, make sure I have enough time for those deliveries.” He stood and stretched unhurriedly. 

“I suppose you should,” Gaius said, although his face was still pensive. He didn’t say anything, though, not while Merlin cleaned his dishes, returned to his room to wash and dress, nor even as he collected the needed remedies into a small satchel. It was only when Merlin was pulling open the door that he called after him again. 

“Merlin,” he began. The way Gaius was looking at him had something sad about it, but also quite proud. “You’ve done more for Camelot than anyone I’ve ever known, and so much of it for no credit at all. That’s a terrible burden for anyone, no matter how great they are. Don’t forget that I’m here if you ever have need of a listening ear. No matter what it is, you can come to me.”

Merlin gave a soft smile. “Of course, Gaius,” his lips spoke, even as his mind said _Never_. Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Merlin was pleased that he was relearning all the quickest paths to every corner of the castle. He went first to Olwyn’s room in the wing that housed resident nobility, mostly family of small council members and high ranking knights. Then he took the stairs down to the ground floor, catching Gerald the houseboy on his way to shovel snow off the castle steps. Then to the back of the castle, where the kitchens, scullery, laundry, and entrances to the cellars were. Elaine was quite grateful for the ointment; her poor hands were raw and red from all the dishwashing. Wherever Merlin went, he made sure to call out greetings using names, and listening for those he still did not remember. He grew better everyday. 

Afterwards, it was back up the stairs with a tray in hand, laden with sausage, rolls, dried fruit, and sweet nuts. Merlin took each corner confidently. It was all becoming natural again. 

Arthur was still in bed, as was usual. If Merlin reached out, he would probably feel the magic of the runestone he had hidden above the bed working away. He allowed Arthur a few extra moments, stoking up the fire and letting the room warm before marching for the windows. He whipped back the curtains. “Up,” he barked.

The king whined wordlessly and flopped over. Merlin pursed his lips, an idea occurring. Had he ever done it before? No, he didn’t think so, not with Arthur. Many times afterward, sure, but that method of wake-up was not usually required for adults. 

Arthur’s groans turned into a full squawk when Merlin yanked the blankets completely off the bed. “About time these were laundered,” the servant muttered to himself. “Stop moaning, your breakfast is cooling.” When he got a furiously puzzled stare, he slapped on a goofy grin. It felt crooked. “Sire.”

Arthur flopped back down. Merlin blew a sharp breath out through his nostrils before saying, “You’ll be happy to know there’s not much on your itinerary today. Just a meeting with the keeper of larders about our winter stores and settling a disagreement between two merchants about stand spacing.”

“It never stops, does it?” Arthur lamented, heaving a great sigh.

“Not really.” Merlin paused in his collecting of dirty laundry, seeing the unexaggerated slump of Arthur’s posture as he sat up, and the drawn expression on his face. That exhaustion really was getting to him.

“You know,” Merlin spoke up, “Sorry, I actually made a mistake. Meeting the keeper of stores was something I was supposed to do.” He shook his head pitifully. “See, this is what happens when a poor servant just has so many things to do, things get scrambled.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Merlin.”

“I don’t think I am, but if this is you saying you would like to lighten my load some, you’re welcome to.”

Arthur heaved himself upright. “Not a chance,” he said, making for the changing screen. He knocked into Merlin’s shoulder as he went, but there was something playful about it. “I’ll expect a detailed report on that.”

“Of course.” Merlin heaved the pile of laundry into a basket sitting beside the wardrobe. “If you won’t be needing anything else…?”

“Go ahead.”

Merlin nodded. He picked up his load and made for the door. A quick flash of magic had the breakfast plate steaming again as he walked out. 

His arms were aching by the time he dropped off the laundry, but it was a good kind of ache. Servant’s work built up strength surprisingly well, so he hadn’t felt inclined to cheat with magic. Next he went to find the larder keeper. Not very eventful; the stores had been well-managed with plenty left over for the remainder of winter. 

Next on his list was picking up one of Arthur’s coats from a seamstress in town. When he stepped outside, he froze, momentarily blinded. The pale winter sun was shining down on the snow-covered courtyard. He hesitated with locked knees on the steps before driving forward, eyes squinted against the glare. It was easier once his boots sank into the drifts; the feeling was fresh and keen and present. 

The lower town was lovely in the snow. The streets were white instead of feet-churned and muddy, and the thatch and wood homes were brightened by the coatings on their roofs. Merlin sidestepped a pair of children charging by, kicking up snow and laughing. 

He was expected at the tailor’s. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” the old seamstress said, shuffling out of her shop with a fine long-coat thrown over one arm. “Normally I’m not one for snow, but it’s been light, and even I have to admit it makes the town a pretty sight.”

“It is quite nice…Laura,” Merlin said, only hesitating slightly as he took the coat. When she didn’t correct him, he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. “For your excellent work, as always.” He dropped a few coins into her outstretched palm.

“Anything for our good king,” she said, wrinkled face kindly. “Wish Gaius well for me.”

“That I will.” 

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” she cried, ducking back inside for a moment. She came back with a fine pair of hide gloves in hand. “For you, Merlin.”

Merlin stared, taking them unconsciously. “Whatever for?”

“Why, for bothering to take time to talk to me when you come around. The curse of growing old, I suppose. People are less willing to pay you mind, or seek your company. But you’ve always brought good conversation. The least I could do was make sure you don’t freeze your hands off.”

Merlin swallowed. He didn’t remember any of that. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, I insist. Now get along, I’m sure you’re busy right now. Besides, I’m freezing just looking at you. I think a new jacket might need to follow the gloves.”

Merlin stepped back, shaking his head and putting on a smile. “No, really, it’s all right. This one’s served so far. A patch job and it’ll be good as new. Have a good day, Laura.” Then he hurried off.

He was improving, but apparently still missing pieces. He felt strangely ashamed, although he couldn’t see any way to avoid it. A millennium and a half’s worth of memories was hard to keep track of. Merlin remembered a lot of the big things, he had forced himself to: most of his adventures with Arthur and the knights, his most valued friendships, his major mistakes. Yet there were a lot of blank spots he was beginning to find. Even if he was quick enough on his feet to cover up his fumbles, once he knew those gaps were there, they made his memories feel skeletal. He looked down at the gloves, feeling the smoothness of them as he ran a thumb across the hide. He pulled them on, almost wishing he could actually feel the cold like he used to.

He was flagged down in the courtyard on his return by Sir Elyan, the tight, dark curls of his hair speckled with white snowflakes. “Arthur means to lead a hunt,” he called. “He told me to tell you to get things prepared.”

A few months ago Merlin couldn’t help feeling uneasy or awkward in the presence of his old friends. Now, although he still felt a tiny shock of strangeness, he was able to reply smoothly and totally in-character. He flicked his eyes around the snowy courtyard, before asking sarcastically, “What’s he hoping to hunt? Icicles?” 

Elyan shrugged genially. “I think he just needs to get out of the castle, and I don’t totally blame him.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “All right. I’ll drop this off and get on that.” He picked up the pace. 

An hour later saw Merlin putting the finishing touches on their few supplies, enough for about a day, with Arthur’s five most trusted knights milling about, conversing with one another, petting their horses, and adjusting winter gear.

Gwaine had drifted over to Merlin and began chatting, apparently having been shooed off by Leon. Gwaine’s bawdier sense of humor tended to have a short limit with the other knight’s noble sensibilities. “So, what do you think our prospects look like?” Gwaine asked, ruffling the mane of Merlin’s horse. “Couple of squirrels or a very scrawny deer?”

An old memory resurfaced and brought a half-smile to Merlin’s face. “Pheasants?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too wistful. At least he remembered that one.

Gwaine huffed a laugh. “Hopefully not that kind, though a nice roast pheasant would be more than welcome. Bit of rosemary, some apples, and that creamy sauce they make special for feasts…”

“You’re going to make yourself hungry before we even start.” 

“Eh, you’re probably right. Just makes the hunt that much more fun. And speaking of fun,” he said, giving Merlin a teasing thwack on the arm, “It’s about time you joined the rest of us for a tavern night. You haven’t been along in ages. You’ve been cooped up practically all winter, I hardly see you anymore.”

“Just trying to keep on top of things, now that Arthur’s king,” Merlin said casually, though he felt a stir of wariness. Had he been acting too distant? He thought he had been behaving normally enough.

“You’re too diligent for your own good health, Merlin,” Gwaine joked. “I’m sure Arthur can pull on his own trousers on occasion.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that.”

“Oh I imagine. Washing his clothes, tucking him into bed, darning his petticoats.”

Merlin laughed, genuinely. That feeling of strangeness assaulted him again, cutting his mirth off a little short, but his spirits definitely felt lighter. “If Arthur hears us talking about his petticoats, I think we’ll end up the quarry on this hunt.”

Gwaine threw a conspiratorial arm over Merlin’s shoulder. “Aye, but you’re a fast runner, and I’d watch your back. Least I could do after your assistance in…ah, liberating food from the kitchens.”

Merlin’s smile became strained. He squirmed as subtly as he could out of Gwaine’s grip. “What are friends for?”

Any further talk was cut off by Arthur emerging from the doors of the castle, his fur-lined, scarlet cape billowing behind him. Deferential “sires” and “your highnesses” piped up from the guards and servants in the courtyard, and Arthur acknowledged them all with a nod. Merlin eyed the king searchingly as he descended the steps. Some of that exhaustion seemed to have fallen away. Hopefully this trip would be just what Arthur needed, a little breathing room for a day. 

“Is everything ready?” Arthur asked as he drew up to the party.

“Waiting on you,” replied Merlin. 

“Good. I’ve been stuck at a desk for god knows how long. I need some fresh air.” He wasted no time in swinging up onto the back of his great bay, the rest of them following suit. “Let’s see what kind of game the winter has left for us.” With a muffled thudding of horse hooves, the hunting party spurred out of the courtyard and across the citadel drawbridge. They maintained a slow trot through the lower town, being hailed by the common folk as they rode past, a few little ones running alongside the horses for a bit, but when they hit the main gate of Camelot they sped up and left all tails behind. Then it was just them and the white fields ahead.

Merlin stayed toward the back of their column, enjoying the speed and freedom of galloping on horseback. Vehicles could never quite recreate the feeling, even if they went faster. Only flying could surpass it. For a moment he wanted to open his mind’s eye, to at least imitate lifting off and soaring high above even the tallest trees. Unfortunately, doing so on horseback was not the wisest idea, and he wasn’t keen on a splitting headache either. So he contented himself on the ground as best he could. Still, he couldn’t help a swell of longing when a hawk swooped overhead.

They rode for awhile, alternating between a light gallop and a trot over the rolling cleared land, following the curves and swells of the Darkling Wood’s border. It was during one of their trotting periods that Arthur decided he’d had enough of silent travel.

“I’m surprised,” he called from the front of the column. “We’ve gone maybe an hour without Merlin complaining about being wet or cold.” 

Merlin’s lips thinned. Arthur never had been one to indulge in a peaceful bit of quiet. Always had to have something going on. “Perhaps I’m freezing to death, and am therefore too weak to complain. You mock now, but you’ll mourn at my funeral.”

“Hardly. I’ll be celebrating a new era of quiet. Make a holiday out of it.”

“And yet,” Merlin returned, “You broke a very nice bit of silence to comment on my lack of noise. Do you miss my voice so much, or do the echoes in your empty skull just grow too much to bear?”

That one got Gwaine guffawing properly, and wrung some healthy chuckles from the rest of the knights. “I think he’s getting better, not to mention meaner,” Percival said with a grin. “You’d best watch out, Arthur.”

“You forget, Percival, I am the king. Merlin can get as uppity as he likes; I can still throw him in the stocks.”

“Then good luck finding your own clothes in the morning. Heavens know you couldn’t locate your wardrobe even with all your best hounds sniffing it out.” 

Arthur shot a disgruntled look over his shoulder, which Merlin met with a sharply raised eyebrow. It seemed Merlin had scored the point, as the king shook out his horse’s reins before tossing behind him, “Well, let’s hope you keep your like of silence, Merlin, because I don’t want to hear any moaning about sore backsides for the rest of the day. Now let’s pick up the pace; I’d like to actually catch something today.” He kicked his horse back into a light gallop, and the party followed behind him.

Merlin let a faint smile creep onto his face. Arthur’s needling was a good sign. It showed he was adjusting to the death of his father, heading back toward normal. Such a mild winter had been quite fortunate for the both of them. It gave Arthur time to acclimate to his new position without too much pressure, and it gave Merlin time to reshape himself to fit his role properly. His banter with Arthur was becoming more organic. It felt sincere, rather than put on for the sake of an act. Well, mostly sincere, but he could work with that. There still remained a core of unfamiliarity, of artificiality, but as long as he didn’t look at it, it was getting easier to pretend it wasn’t there.

They rode for a little longer before Arthur decided to turn them into the Darkling Wood proper. The forest was not so dark now, with bare boughs laden with clumps of snow and the ground blanketed in a white crust. Slowed to a walk again, they were still the loudest things around, snapping twigs and slushing through snow as they wended their way through the trees. The forest slept, but under its winter coating Merlin could just make out the magic of the earth. It was sluggish and faint, seasonal dormancy, but there was a green, energetic taste to it that told him spring would be coming early this year. 

“This is as good a spot as any,” Arthur called at the front, and they all halted beneath a grove of rowan trees. With practiced ease all were dismounted, had their horses picketed, and ready with their crossbows within fifteen minutes. Arthur waved them in a random direction of his choosing, and off they went.

Merlin kept toward the rear, making sure to step on the occasional twig for appearances sake. With everyone’s backs to him, he allowed his awareness to spread outward around them, racing like a vanguard into the quiet forest. Nothing to be felt but winter wildlife. 

Their hunt was largely uneventful. They tracked back and forth, never straying too far from the horses, and managed to flush out a bony fox and an unwary buck. Easy kills and not much sport to it, but Merlin could tell just being outside was improving Arthur’s state of mind. The king, and indeed most of his knights, did not do well with being cooped up for so long. 

Merlin, on the other hand, had been rather productive, indoors or no. After all, this peace was going to end sooner or later, and he didn’t plan on being caught napping.

The group was currently fanned out, possible game up ahead. Merlin was on the right wing and Leon, the closest knight to him, was over twenty meters away and intent on his tracking. The warlock paused next to a large oak tree and slipped a small knife from his boot. With practiced ease, he sliced a basic rune into the rough bark. With a flash of his eyes, the rune glowed gold for a brief moment before fading out. It was nearly impossible to see if you weren’t looking for it. If any magic was performed in this vicinity as long as the rune held, he would know it.

Morgana hadn’t been seen since the incident with the black dogs. He wasn’t naive enough to assume her dead; she was biding her time somewhere, scheming. With the time given, he had meant to ensure Camelot was as protected as he could make it. Warding and detection runes were just one of his methods. Exercising both his body and those magical skills he’d left to languish was another. Also, working together with Lancelot, the knight had taken to bringing along charms Merlin had made when he went on patrol, stashing them in whatever villages the knights happened through. When Morgana came back, Merlin intended to be ready. He continued to carve his mark into the trees as they went. 

Arthur called a brief halt when the sun was at its peak, or at least they thought it was. The clouds had rolled back in when they had begun the hunt, and the snow that followed hadn’t let up since. Now it was up past their ankles even under the trees. “We’ll get back to it in an hour,” the king declared as they returned to where they’d left their horses.

“Do you really think we should continue?” Merlin asked. The sky had grown noticeably darker. The light snowfall wasn’t going to stay light for much longer.

“Afraid of a few more flakes?”

Merlin could have replied to that, but chose not to. They weren’t going to be in any danger, just slowed down and uncomfortable on the way back. If Arthur wanted to be stubborn for the sake of his pride, then Merlin wasn’t going to spare him the consequences. He set about watering and feeding the horses a little ways off. The others sat themselves down along the length of a fallen trunk, brushing off the snow and continuing a conversation about the freshest group of knights hopeful, or more accurately having a good-natured laugh at them. Merlin listened, but did not contribute. 

He was just finishing with Percival’s horse when Lancelot got up from his place with the others and came over to Merlin. “I’ll manage mine,” he said, patting the beautiful gray on her neck. “I haven’t given her nearly enough attention lately.”

Merlin shrugged, moving on to Gwaine’s big black charger instead. They waited for the conversation to pick up again between the others before Lancelot murmured, “Have you been warding this part of the forest?”

“Just detection spells.”

Lancelot ran his fingers through his horse’s mane, looking thoughtful. “And all’s been quiet?”

“Nothing so far.”

“I can’t say I like the waiting,” the knight admitted. “A part of me wants to enjoy the peace. After King Uther’s death, things feel like they’re settling again. But on the other hand…”

“Just waiting for that hanging sword to drop?” Merlin questioned. “I know the feeling. One thing Camelot’s taught me, it won’t stay quiet for long.”

Lancelot nodded silently. Merlin turned his attention away. Gwaine’s horse, an outgoing and boisterous beast, was insistently nudging him and grunting. Steed and rider were well-suited to each other. He had to push its head back repeatedly before it deigned to start eating. The activity distracted Merlin enough that Lancelot’s next question caught him off guard.

“Have you considered telling Arthur? About…well, everything?”

Merlin shot a glance over his shoulder, but none of the others paid them any mind. He moved to the other side of the horse, putting it between himself and Lancelot. “In general, or lately?” he asked. 

“Recently. Now that he’s king, the situation has changed for you.”

“Yes, I suppose it has.” Merlin looked at his gloved hands as he brushed snow from the horse’s mane, and frowned. He considered taking them off. “I don’t think now is the best time. He’s still getting adjusted.”

“It might be for the best,” Lancelot protested. “Like you said, this peace won’t last forever. It might be better now, rather than later when troubles come around.”

“And what about Agravaine? He would jump on the opportunity to turn Arthur against one of his friends and sow discord at the same time.”

“Arthur wouldn’t hurt you. He’s not that kind of man.”

“No,” Merlin conceded, “He’s not.” Even if he had been, capital punishment wasn’t exactly a threat anymore, was it? “But he might very well be angry enough to banish me.” He stopped, thinking. In more straightforward situations, banishment actually wouldn’t be the worst thing. He would be free to track down Morgana, and he wouldn’t even have to worry about concerned friends following after him; Arthur would probably forbid it. Agravaine was the snag, though. Who knew what the man would try unchecked. At the very least he would poison Arthur’s opinions of Merlin even further. It would make things much more difficult than he would like. 

Lancelot sighed. “Perhaps. It’s not my place to tell you what to do. I just think you should consider it, especially now. There’s only so much we can do against Morgana on our own.”

Unfortunately, Lancelot was right. He was just one knight, and Merlin… well, he had incredible power, but even that couldn’t solve every problem. Sometimes, it could make them even worse. He moved a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing reflexively. “I’ll think about it.”

By the time the hour of rest was up, Merlin’s weather prediction was becoming reality. The snowflakes, which had been fat but sparse, had become numerous and remained fat, with a stronger wind driving them down. It was a sticky snow, and would be piled quite high by nightfall.

“Don’t say anything, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled, glaring at the sky as if it had given personal offense.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I’m _sure_ you weren’t.” Heaving a long suffering sigh, Arthur ordered, “Pack it up. It seems our hunt is over for the day.”

They knew instantly that the return journey was going to be much longer. The wind was sharp and strong beyond the borders of the woods, and the drifts were much higher. 

“Well, this looks fun,” Gwaine declared with a sour, close-lipped smile. 

“Unless you’re looking to camp out here until it lets up, I’m afraid you’re going to have to endure it.” Arthur led the way, his hair already covered with snow.

As before, Merlin fell to the back of the column, but this time Lancelot drifted back to ride beside him. “You wouldn’t be able to clear things up a bit, by any chance?” he asked quietly, half-joking.

Merlin tilted his head in a kind of shrug. “Maybe I could, but I won’t. If Arthur doesn’t listen, he gets what he asks for.”

Lancelot let out a small burst of laughter. “And when did you become so cruel?”

_I honestly don’t know. Was I not always like this?_ Merlin grinned sharply. “I wouldn’t say I was cruel. I’d say I was being a teacher.” 

The hunting party sped to a gallop, to cover as much ground before the weather turned for the worse. Even with the wind and flakes blowing into his eyes, Merlin wasn’t truly cold, and in the earth’s crust he could feel the stirrings of spring.

He found himself disagreeing with Lancelot. Personally, he was ready to have this peace over with. Too much time spent thinking. When things were happening it was hectic, but something he was used to. Merlin was built for crises; it was what he was meant for. And with spring would come a new step toward his goals: Julius Borden, and the key to the last dragon egg. The key to Aithusa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of set-up before the episode plot starts rolling, plus I just really wanted a bit of quiet winter scenes before things begin, ahem, snowballing. I know it's because of scheduling and not wanting to film in the freezing cold, but I still think it's funny that in the show it always appeared to be summer in Camelot. 
> 
> Side bar, I'm one of those playlist people that listens to specific songs to get in the right headspace for writing, and occasionally I might drop a track in the notes. If anyone's interested, my personal dual-anthem for this series is Meet Me in the Woods/Way Out There by Lord Huron. There's one other I consider a 'theme,' but I think I'll save that one for another time.


	3. An Understanding

A spring storm was raging outside. The rain was pouring down so hard and the thunder was galloping with such frequency through the clouds that Merlin, squinting up at the ash-darkened ceiling, almost thought he could see the frame of the building shaking. Was tonight the night?

“Oi, Merlin!” 

The slap on the back sent Merlin jerking up straight in his seat, his tankard of ale slopping across his shirtfront. He became aware again of the noisiness going on indoors, the crowded tavern feeling especially rowdy tonight. More patrons than usual in the Rising Sun, looking to warm their bellies with ale, stew, and rowdy conversation while the downpour rolled over Camelot.

Gwaine laughed loudly at Merlin’s clumsiness but made sure to signal one of the barmaids for a cloth. “You’ve hardly had more than one and already we’re losing you,” he said with a wide grin as he took a seat, clutching what had to be at least his fifth tankard. “You, my friend, are hopeless.”

Percival snorted into his drink while Elyan reached over to pat Merlin sympathetically on the shoulder. Lancelot just quirked a smile, eyes on the servant. 

Merlin waved them off, swiping at his eyes. They felt gritty from the smokey air. “Well, alcohol on top of a slave driver for a master make a man tired,” he said. The alcohol really had nothing to do with it, and not really weariness either, but they were easy excuses. People got curious when one said they had things on their minds.

“It’s a pity,” Percival said. “You’ve been missing Elyan’s stories about his travels in Anglia.” He gestured to the other knight with his tankard, adding, “So that was the worst customer you ever had?”

“Oh no,” Elyan said with a smirk. “There was actually one worse.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Really? What’s worse than a spoiled little braggart that sends his father to complain to _you_ about a sword _he_ broke?”

“There was this one nobleman, a resident in the local keep. Seemed to think he was king of the Britons, his opinion of himself was so high. He would come into the shop like he was God’s gift to men, say our armor was base and crude, offer extremely low amounts, and whenever he paid the proper price he would complain as if we were playing him a great cheat. As if we weren’t the best weapon and armor smiths in the area.” Elyan’s smile became mischievous. “So Timothy and I had something of an idea. There was a merchant we were on friendly terms with, brought in expensive wares from major ports. We also had another friend, a seamstress that served the wealthier ladies. We bought some fake gems and other pretty baubles off of her—she always had a few on hand for those customers that fell on the stingier side—and forged them into one of our standard sets. Then we gave the armor to our merchant friend, and he sold them as if they were rare antiquities from across the sea.”

“Let me guess,” Lancelot said, a smile growing on his face.

“Our high-horse customer lapped it up like the finest wine,” declared Elyan with significant pride. “He paid so much for the whole set that even splitting it three ways with Timothy and the merchant, I made the most I’ve ever made off of a single sale.”

The whole table chuckled, even Merlin. He had heard that story long ago, but he had forgotten it until now.

“Pompous patrons aside,” Elyan continued, “Anglia was beautiful, especially in the summer. If I didn’t have responsibilities now, I might have traveled back there.” He spun his tankard in his hands, expression becoming somewhat wistful.

“Responsibilities,” Gwaine exclaimed into his mug, sounding thoroughly perplexed. Perhaps the drinks were catching up with him after all. “When exactly did that happen again?”

“A year and a half ago,” Percival supplied. “Give or take?”

Gwaine blew out a loud breath. “Still don’t believe it sometimes.”

“Me either,” said Elyan. “Not long ago I was a wandering blacksmith. Now I’m a knight in the king of Camelot’s inner circle. I can’t thank Arthur enough for the honor, even if I can’t run off to Anglia whenever I please.” 

“I would have been without a home had Arthur not knighted me.” Percival seemed solemn, but calm. “And me a commoner and everything. This is the least I owe him.”

“And not long ago I still would have been in a tavern, but with a lot less money and not nearly as fine company.” Gwaine clapped a hand on Percival’s shoulder sitting on his left. “Now look at me. Wouldn’t trade it, though later training sessions would be appreciated.”

Lancelot leaned his elbows against the table, his visage thoughtful. “I don’t think any of us could have imagined we would end up here. I always dreamed… but I don’t think I ever expected to stop dreaming either. But here we are, and I intend to be the best knight I can be. We’ve come from all over, but Camelot’s our home now.”

“I’d drink to that,” Gwaine said, lifting his tankard in salute. The rest joined him. Even Merlin went along, a close-lipped smile masking the steely resolve underneath. It was a reminder that Arthur’s death was not the only one he intended on erasing.

The knights set to draining the dregs of their pints, and Merlin would have played along if the door to the tavern hadn’t opened just then. He turned in his seat, saw who had come in, and fell still. Granted, Merlin’s memory of this particular face wasn’t crystal clear, and the man himself was unremarkable in appearance—middling height, neither comely nor ugly, mouse-brown hair and beard—but even so, Merlin recognized Julius Borden on sight, soaking wet and shifty-eyed. 

“Hitting your limit, Merlin?” Gwaine asked.

Merlin only responded with a shrug, going back to nursing his drink. He kept one eye on Borden, though, as he talked to Henry the innkeep, then disappeared upstairs for a time. 

The extent to which he could stall on the one drink was reaching unbelievability by the time Borden came back downstairs. He slipped back outside, the briefly open door letting a rumble of thunder into the common room.

Merlin stretched lazily with a sleepy smile. “I think Gwaine had it right. I’m falling ‘sleep,” he declared with just a tiny bit of slurring. “’M gonna head back before someone has to carry me.”

“Sure you don’t need a shoulder to lean on?” Lancelot asked half-jokingly. “Dark, muddy roads aren’t so easily managed with too much ale.”

Merlin ‘psh’ed’. “I can manage. Not a child.” He got up and waved sloppily. “Night all.” He made for the door, clipping a table or two on the way out. The knights could be heard chuckling as he went. 

The act dropped the moment he was outside. He turned immediately for the citadel, certain of where Borden was heading. The rain slammed down on him as he hurried up through the streets. The sheer power and energy of the storm resonated with his own magic, made his heart beat fast and his nerves rattle. Whenever lightning flashed, he twitched. It was both a relief and a disappointment when he made it back to the castle. He moved more slowly then, not wanting to overtake Borden.

Wet tracks guided him up Gaius’s winding stairs, and when he pressed his ear to the door, he could hear them. 

“Save your eyesight, Gaius. It’s the triskelion of Ashkenar,” he heard.

Through the seam between door and frame, Merlin could just catch sight of the two men inside. A flash of gold winked between them: the key to the future of dragonkind. If his desire to claim it had matched the impulsiveness of his youth in that moment, he would have burst through the door with no hesitation. Instead he waited and watched as Gaius seized hold of it and held it beneath a glass for inspection.

“Yes,” Borden murmured, reverently and covetously. “We both know the legend. We both know what he hid there.”

“A dragon’s egg. And you have come to steal it.”

_He can try._

“I wouldn’t say steal.” 

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Gaius said coldly. “You’re missing a part of the triskelion.”

“Oh no. I know where that bit is.” 

It was all the same, though there shouldn’t have been any reason for a change. He continued listening, but nothing rang with unfamiliarity. When Gaius rejected Borden’s offers, Merlin withdrew, not intending to be found out.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, instead of placing himself out of sight until he could return to Gaius’s rooms, he headed back out into the rain. It was time he and Kilgharrah had that much-needed talk. He had been considering how best to do it for some time, and he was ready to get this over with. This time they couldn’t dance around each other with vague insults and half-truths. He needed his dragon, and he felt that it was going to hinge on the upcoming conversation.

The storm was sitting heavy directly above Camelot at this point, and the thunder was so loud that he barely needed to clear the city walls before he let loose his call. _“O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd’hup’anankes!”_

* * *

Over the past few months, Kilgharrah had never been far from Camelot. Distant enough that his presence would raise no alarms, but always within reach of the city. When his dragonlord’s call came to him like another rumble of thunder in the clouds, he emerged from his shelter in a thick grove and took off into the storming sky. As he flew, he tried to settle his uneasiness, while at the same time trying to comprehend the inconceivable situation. _Merlin_ was unnerving him. 

Well, it was no longer the Merlin he’d known, was it?

Kilgharrah was old, even by the standards of dragons. He had seen and been through much over his span of years, both experienced and foreseen. He would almost go so far as to number himself twice his physical age to account for the possible future paths he had witnessed. It was the nature of dragons, especially Great Dragons, the strongest of their kind, to be able to see the threads of potentiality that weaved through the world and all its creatures. Locked away for twenty years, cut off from wind and sky as a dragon should never be, lest they fall into a lower beasthood born of imprisonment, one of the only things that had kept him from descending into that madness had been those threads of the future. Even as the Purge bloodied the kingdom overhead, Kilgharrah could feel something great hovering in the future like a distant but bright star. The Pendragon boy was one of those threads; he had seen some of the great deeds he would accomplish while the prince was still just a babe. Then there was the other thread, a scrawny young boy with exceptional magic and a kind heart. Woefully unprepared, Kilgharrah could see, but years before Merlin had ever stepped foot in Camelot he had resolved to guide this boy, to link those threads as he desired and build the bridge to that star he saw: a united Albion, one where the base and the magical flourished together, and the events that occurred in that time going down in history.

But that boy had simply vanished, and Kilgharrah didn’t know what to make of the being that had taken his place. For all Merlin’s stubbornness and naivety as he had been, Kilgharrah had never truly feared that his desired future would be in jeopardy until he felt that cataclysm in the fabric of time and magic, and saw what had come out of it: something old and scarred and certainly not his young warlock. Kilgharrah no longer knew what to expect, and that unsettled him greatly. He couldn’t say what tonight had in store.

The dragon followed the summons, not to the clearing where they usually met, but deeper in the forest, to a wide but shallow cave. He had to crouch to slither through the entrance. 

Merlin was waiting inside, a flickering fire providing light to the space. He was perched on a boulder, his shadow thrown massive against the rock wall behind him. “Kilgharrah,” he greeted neutrally, voice echoing off the walls. The dragon didn’t reply as he settled down, obliged to keep his head tucked low or else brush the ceiling. In that position, Merlin was almost at eye level with him from his seat. “I’m sorry if it’s cramped. I didn’t fancy being soaked or having to shout over the storm.”

“Why have you called me here, Merlin?” Kilgharrah asked bluntly. “I’m assuming you’re not looking to ask for advice. Nothing urgent has occurred?”

Merlin readjusted his position, drawing up into a more alert posture and sitting on his shins. “Something has happened, although it’s not troubling,” he admitted. “In light of it, I was actually hoping we could just… talk.”

Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed. “I was under the impression that we have been talking.”

Merlin gave a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t call passive aggressive insults and hedging a _true_ talk.” His face fell flat again. “You do not trust me. You’ve been assessing me, and I’ve been being cryptic. Not helpful, as I’ve learned quite well from dealing with _you_ in the past. It’s about time we came to an understanding.”

It sounded much more like the Merlin he’d known, but it didn’t change anything. “I’m sure I’ve made my thoughts clear, Merlin,” Kilgharrah said frankly and formally, “Or else you’ve grown no wiser with age. I believe that your… perversion of time is a great mistake. It was your duty to wait for Arthur’s return, to prepare for the time when Albion would need him most. I may not be able to stop you, but I certainly don’t have to help you…willingly.”

Merlin frowned, but it was a shallow frown. Fake. Or at least very restrained. The warlock had never been so guarded in the past. “I won’t force you into anything, and I won’t threaten it either. Before, back on Samhain, that was…excessive of me. I shouldn’t have done that.” He paused in thought. What came out of his mouth next was not at all what Kilgharrah expected. “The tomb of Ashkenar has been found.”

Kilgharrah only narrowly avoided a collision with the ceiling as he jerked in shock. “Ashkenar? That means…” He trailed off, mind working quickly. He knew what was hidden in that tomb. And it seemed, from the lack of surprise or urgency, Merlin did as well. The faint beginnings of a growl boiled deep in the dragon’s chest. “You knew?”

Merlin nodded.

Claws flexing against the stony ground, Kilgharrah spat out, “And yet you have said nothing. Have done nothing! All these months you’ve been back and you’ve let it lie. You are a dragonlord, and yet you’ve let this egg, perhaps one of the last in the world, languish! And you wonder why I cannot trust you.” Hot steam furled from his nostrils and from between his jaws.

Merlin breathed in deeply, perhaps angered but not showing it. “The egg is safe there. I didn’t mention it because I knew you would want it extracted immediately. I needed time to think it over.”

“What is there to think over?” asked Kilgharrah contemptuously. 

“The future, obviously.” Merlin’s voice took its first step out of neutral, a note of reciprocal disdain coloring it. “I did free the egg the first time. It didn’t work out so well. You might think I’m failing my duties, but I’d sooner Aithusa be kept in safety until the time is right. But…” He cut off. Kilgharrah stared in waiting, the slipped name hovering in his mind. Aithusa. Light of the sun. A spark of longing lit within him. 

Merlin sighed, shoulders slumping. “He was hurt, on my watch,” he admitted wearily. “Crippled. I never found out how; he wouldn’t tell me. But whatever happened cut his life span short. He only lived seventy years. If things were simple I would leave him be, wait until a greater peace comes before I bring him into the world. But I can’t guarantee that will happen. I’ve put a lot of thought into this over the past few months. I have as much responsibility to dragon kind as I do Camelot, and I cannot allow it to be wiped out.” The warlock fell silent, fingers tapping against his knees, and Kilgharrah let him have the time to collect his thoughts. “I think this is where we can find common ground, Kilgharrah. I know you don’t agree with my methods, but there’s nothing for it now. You and I are kin, and whatever the future holds we’ll be stronger together than at odds. And… I do need your help. There’s an enemy far greater than Morgana waiting for us, and not even all my power could stop it.” With these trailing words, a darker tone crept into his voice, one Kilgharrah recognized.

“The great fading of magic,” the dragon said, half to himself. Merlin hadn’t gone into much detail about it, but he had picked up enough from the sparse stories the warlock had been willing to share.

Merlin twitched. He might have picked up on Kilgharrah's thoughts, or else his mind had been in the same place, as he then said, “...Yes. Yes, the fading of magic.” His fists clenched in his lap, the blood draining from his knuckles. “I had to come back, to make things right, to maybe stop it from happening at all. So I ask that you just listen. You may still disagree with me, but at least you’ll understand my reasoning. I owe you that much at least.”

Kilgharrah sensed, as Merlin seemed to gather himself, that he was preparing to launch into his explanation, whatever it was. Merlin had shared some general information regarding the future, but nothing that could be considered personal. Before he opened his mouth, Kilgharrah intercepted. “If the aim of this meeting is to be honest, I would appreciate if you did so with action as well as words.” When Merlin made no reply, Kilgharrah chuffed impatiently. “Don’t be thick, Merlin. You’re shielding so much I can hardly see you.” For dragons, like with other very powerful creatures of magic, the flesh was only the minimum of what could be discerned about another living being. 

Merlin tensed. Kilgharrah anticipated a refusal, but instead he received a hesitant nod. “All right,” Merlin said. “As much as I can manage.” 

Like curtains being drawn apart, layers of magical obfuscation fell away and revealed the more complete Emrys hidden at their center. Kilgharrah shifted. There suddenly seemed to be a lot less space in this cave, and the storm outside seemed much louder. Merlin hadn’t moved from his spot and had made no physical change, but Kilgharrah could sense the growth. Merlin filled the cave, and the human body sitting on the rock was only the heart of his presence: sparks and stars, the breeze of spring and the bittersweet decay of winter, blood and laughter and moonlight and fire, all weaving through the air and cramming against the walls like a miniature galaxy trapped in a jar. Even then there were parts of it that were obscured from him, the scars, marks, and details undoubtedly accumulated over the years blurred out and formless. What he could make out, though, was the pulse of white heat coming from the core. It was eerily familiar.

Kilgharrah felt a pang, most unexpectedly. The old Merlin really was gone. Trying to hide how he’d been ruffled, he said, “You’re still blocking.”

“I said as much as I could manage. Besides, do you want every magic-sensitive creature in the area swarming the cave?”

Kilgharrah didn’t, and though he didn’t like that so much was still being hidden from him, he let it go. Instead he changed topics. “That’s my flame, isn’t it?” He was already certain, but he wanted to hear it. 

“Yes.”

Kilgharrah dipped his head. It was how he had first known what had happened. When he had flown in to investigate the great ripples he’d felt in the fabric of time all those months ago, even with Merlin stifling his presence, the dragon sensed the duplicate of his fire. There was only one way Merlin could have come to possess it, and thus afforded only one explanation. Merlin’s past—or future—life, the passing of Kilgharrah’s flame, this young dragon named Aithusa, all untold stories that Kilgharrah needed to know. He needed to know what he was facing. “Tell me then,” he urged.

Merlin’s head tilted up, expression blank. He might have been looking past the earthy ceiling and the storm clouds, up to the hidden stars. “Dragons were the start of it all,” he began faintly. “Aithusa… He grew attached to Morgana. Whatever happened to him, they shared the experience, and it bonded them. After I killed her, he rarely came near me. I didn’t blame him. She was there for him when I wasn’t. But he was never well; he wouldn’t grow, he was always in pain. One day I just knew he was gone. I searched a year before I found him, burned his body.” Merlin sighed, and Kilgharrah thought he felt the stones tremble beneath him. “Then you died.”

Kilgharrah merely blinked. The prospect of death did not frighten or disturb him. It was just the natural cycle of life. Although, to leave the world knowing he was the last of his kind, the end of all dragons in Albion, _that_ held a different dread and sorrow. 

Merlin’s head drooped, and he began picking at his sleeves. “I’d left Camelot a while back. Everyone was gone by then, and after the… well, I didn’t think I belonged there anymore. So I wandered the Five Kingdoms, just looking for distraction. Lived in Mercia for a while, then Cornwall, even spent some time as a sellsword in Rheged. I was almost a hundred when you passed on. You gave your flame to me, to keep at least one remnant of the dragons alive. I left Albion not long after.”

Merlin’s gaze grew distant as he sank even further into memory, and with many of his barriers let down, Kilgharrah sank with him. He couldn’t see exactly what Merlin remembered, but he felt and sensed. The tang of sea spray. The beat of gulls’ wings on the air. The yawning gap between himself and all that was familiar. “It was terrifying at first,” Merlin went on. “I felt young and clueless again, stepping off a ship into France. Er, the Frankish kingdoms, to the east,” he clarified. “But in a way it was also a relief. I had no name, no history beyond Albion. I could make something new to distract myself. For a while I wavered back and forth, coming and going between my homeland and nearby countries. Then one day I just struck out, and I didn’t look back. Not for a long time.”

And Kilgharrah felt it. The distance between Merlin and Albion grew and grew until that anchor chain snapped, and the warlock was adrift in a very wide world that was strange even to an old dragon. The very air tasted different, the magic in the earth, not to mention everything that sat on the surface. 

Kilgharrah could also sense the loneliness. He knew it well, locked up for years knowing he might very well be the last of his kind. For Merlin, though, it was even worse. Dragons were naturally long-lived, and time moved slowly for them. Merlin had been raised a human, and it was with humans he most identified. To suddenly be pulled out of sync with them, to watch their lives flicker out so swiftly and only growing swifter as time went on… 

For all his worries and anger, Kilgharrah couldn’t help but pity his unlucky kin. 

Whether Merlin felt that sympathy or not, he didn’t let on. He plunged ahead with his recollection, chasing after the spark that had kept him going. “While I was abroad, I sought out knowledge. Magic. It was the only thing I had left.” A fleeting smile crossed the warlock’s face. “For a time I was overwhelmed. I had never imagined the true scope of magic before. We all draw on the same source, the power that comes from the earth and the life force that surrounds us all, but it can be applied in so many ways by so many different peoples. I wanted to learn whatever they were willing to teach me. And there was _much_ to learn: elemental manipulation, teleportation, shapeshifting, illusion, conjuration, rune work, scrying, healing, stretching my mind’s eye to its furthest potential. I traveled the world, from the south of Africa to the eastern tip of Asia. It seemed never ending.” As he spoke, Kilgharrah could feel the rush of energy through the network of Merlin’s presence, a thrill in the remembrance as they both trekked those long gone roads in distant lands, and mind and muscles strained with the practice of complicated rituals and awe-inspiring spells. Then it faded, and Merlin’s aura grew dim. “But, somehow, it did end. I don’t know exactly when it started, but I began to notice around maybe the thirteen hundreds. Whether I was here at home or out in the world, the enclaves of magic started getting smaller. Magical species were dying out.” Sorrow filled the cave. “The last time I saw a unicorn was here in Albion, or England at that point, right before the reign of the Tudors began. I think that was when it really sunk in. Magic was dying, or leaving, and it only declined with time, and no matter how I searched or what I tried to do, I couldn’t stop it. I could still use my magic; I was my own source. But the rest of the world…” He huffed an unamused breath of laughter. “I understand now how you’ve felt, being the last of your kind. By the turn of the millennium other sorcerers were all but gone, before—“

Kilgharrah almost didn’t notice the trailing word, but the shock of something dark racing through the cave and echoing off the walls sent him a screaming alert. Merlin stopped talking, and Kilgharrah could feel the shields sliding back into place, drawing his expanded being back into his body, but not before he felt a storm of something building at the man’s center: icy hatred and raw fear.

Kilgharrah stared the warlock down. “Before what?” he asked quietly.

The slightest cant of Merlin’s head and the paling of his skin belied the calmness of his expression. It was almost frightening. “Before the end,” he replied simply. Desolately. 

Before Kilgharrah could even open his mouth Merlin cut him off with a tone that brooked no argument. “Not tonight.” It wasn’t quite a dragonlord’s command, hushed with dire warning rather than booming with authority, but a step further and it would be. 

Kilgharrah didn’t like it in the least, though he had no idea what this sinister “end” could be. Unfortunately, he had no way of forcing that information into the open. A young Merlin was stubborn enough; he had no hope of budging an ancient one. He would have to keep it in mind, but, as Merlin had said, tonight was not the night for that battle. He dipped his head in assent. “Very well,” he rumbled, displeased. 

After a moment of tense, dark silence, Merlin straightened, and his manner grew intent. He’d done an admirable job of shaking off the miasma of doom. It was rather uncanny, thought Kilgharrah. “I understand your anger over the egg,” Merlin spoke again normally. “I only wanted to keep it safe. But I called you here because I’ve made up my mind. As much as I want to keep Aithusa out of harm’s way, he is needed. For whatever reason, magic might not survive forever, and I plan to delay that as long as possible if I can’t simply stop it.”

“A fine goal,” Kilgharrah said, thinking back on the admittedly brief future Merlin had outlined. “But this youngling would only be one dragon, and with no females with which to perpetuate our breed, you would only lengthen our extinction.”

A black eyebrow ticked upward, and Merlin’s eyes began to gleam with an almost fitful light. “And that’s why we need him, and why I need you,” Merlin said, leaning forward. “You have knowledge of dragons and dragonlords. I have knowledge of magic, and not an insignificant degree of understanding in biology and genetics.” His voice lowered, every word edged with razor-sharp conviction as he declared, “There may be no more dragons out there in the world, so we’ll just have to try and make our own.”

For the second time that night, Kilgharrah was given a shock off his guard. He blinked, uncomprehending for a moment. He might have laughed if he hadn’t known how deadly serious Merlin was. “Have you gone mad?” he inquired flatly.

“Do you think I can’t do it?”

Kilgharrah bristled just a bit. He wished he could say no, he didn’t think Merlin could do it. But that would be a lie. “I don’t know what you’re capable of, and I’m not sure I care to know.”

For the first time, something like hurt flashed across Merlin’s face. “Kilgharrah… I thought this would be something you would want. I’m not even saying it’s guaranteed, but we have to _try_ at least. For your kind. For the legacy of dragons. Maybe even for magic itself.”

Kilgharrah’s tail twitched, an unconscious reaction. He didn’t reply, but his mind couldn’t help but conjure the image. More dragons, young hatchlings again like he hadn’t seen in many years, ones that would grow into powerful creatures in their own right. He would no longer be the last. For an instant of weakness, Kilgharrah’s mind turned back to his own youth long ago, when the dragons were numerous; the air filled with the thunder of dozens of his kin in flight, the sun blotted out by their wingspans, the music of their calls that was capable of shaking mountains. It was completely possible that Merlin could give that to him. 

“Please, Kilgharrah.” The warlock’s voice was pitched low, and for the first time that night he seemed diminished, almost humble in posture. “I’ve seen what the future holds, and I can’t let it happen; not Arthur’s death, not the fading of magic, and not the extinction of dragons. It’s my duty to save them, and… well, you may not believe me, but I want to save them for you as well. I know what it’s like to be the last, and to be alone. If we work together, we might be able to put an end to that. Please.”

Kilgharrah found himself at a loss. He really didn’t know what to do. 

Deep in his heart, past the calculated barriers he'd erected to hide away the pain of loss, he longed for other dragons. He wanted what was being offered, and that unbalanced him. Ever since the Great Purge, all he could remember wanting was vengeance, of the fiery kind for Uther Pendragon and for the more long-reaching one where Uther’s own son brought a new age of magic back to the land. He had never really thought of it as hope. What he was experiencing now, though, was definitely hope.

But could he trust it? Trust Merlin? For all the pretty promises, believing him meant letting go of control of that future Kilgharrah had clung to in the caves, the one he’d meant to forge a path to, and allowing Merlin to take the lead. Not to mention, in spite of how the warlock seemed sincere, Kilgharrah couldn’t be sure he wasn’t simply being manipulated. The change from authoritative to pleading had been suspiciously quick. And the darkness that had overtaken the warlock previously showed that he had many more secrets buried away that he wasn’t keen on sharing. 

He could say no, refuse to help, but where would that leave him? There was no going back to the way things had been. Merlin might be throwing destiny to the dogs… or he could bring it to life. 

It was a prospect that dwelled too deeply in the unknown for him to like, but he couldn’t deny there was possibility as well. Could there be so much more than Kilgharrah foresaw down that road? Something that turned his distant star of hope into a blazing, glorious sun? Could he gamble for that?

He sighed down to his very bones. Did he have much of a choice either way?

“What would you have me do?” asked Kilgharrah, resignedly.

Merlin’s face remained as composed as ever, but Kilgharrah could see that near feverish light return to his pale blue eyes. “Thank you, Kilgharrah,” he said. This time, the dragon felt unobscured truth in his words. Merlin drew himself up again, tall and brimming with purpose. “First of all, we need to bring Aithusa home. Here’s my plan.”


	4. A Revised Approach

The chipped sign of the Rising Sun tavern swung lazily in the cool, early morning breeze, creaking slightly. Merlin watched it for a moment, face drawn in thought. The approach he had come up with was as good as it was going to get, but there were always going to be unexpected variables, things that could never be predicted. He would just have to stay on his toes, and hope the act he was about to put on would connect with Borden’s underhanded nature. He went inside.

The common room was mostly empty, a stark contrast to the night before, and those who were there had the dull-eyed, rumpled look of travelers that had gotten in late, all hunched over platters of bread and cheese. Henry the innkeeper only gave Merlin a slight nod; besides the occasional evening out with the knights, Merlin stopped by to make deliveries from Gaius on occasion. 

Merlin ascended the stairs to the second floor. It only took a swift open-and-shut of his mind’s eye to know which room was Borden’s, and as he rapped sharply on the door, Merlin went through his routine. Empty the mind—shed the Merlin role, make way for the new one. Posture—straight and confident. Mood and attitude—self-assured and conspiratorial. Last of all, think on his words. He had planned it all out beforehand. Now to see how Borden took it. 

The door opened just a crack, and a suspicious brown eye peered out at him. “What do you want?” Borden growled in his deep voice.

Merlin put on the slightest of smiles. “I’m a friend of Gaius,” he said, leaning on the door frame nonchalantly. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he added quietly, “I’m here about that mutual opportunity that you were on about last night.”

Borden pinned him with a searching stare, before opening the door wider. “Gaius sent you?” he inquired, still suspicious, as Merlin slipped into the room. 

“No, actually.”

Merlin heard the scrape of steel against a leather sheathe even without turning around. “Then who the hell are you?” Borden snapped. Merlin felt the point of a blade against his back.

“An interested party, that’s all. I’m Merlin, Gaius’s apprentice. I heard the two of you talking last night,” Merlin answered, unconcerned but holding his hands up non-threateningly. 

“Get out.”

“Gaius will never help you.” Merlin craned his neck over his shoulder, ramping up the persuasive urgency in his tone. “He’s loyal to the crown and you know it. Without help you’ll never get that final piece of the triskelion. I could give you that help.”

Borden scoffed. “And what kind of help could a boy like you provide?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Why, the help the personal manservant of King Arthur could give you, and more besides.”

Borden’s expression went flat, but that covetous gleam was back in his eye. He withdrew his knife from Merlin’s back, allowing the warlock to turn around, but he didn’t put it away. “Oh, are you? And why exactly would you want to help?”

Merlin let out a contemptuous noise of his own, using his height advantage on Borden to look down his nose at him. “You need to ask? Possibly the last dragon egg in all of Albion would be beyond any price.”

Borden’s mouth turned down in displeasure. “Fancy yourself a treasure hunter, do you?”

“Not particularly, but a manservant’s wages aren’t likely to see me comfortably through old age.”

“An opportunist, then.” Borden eyed him up and down, perhaps even more critically than when he had first opened the door. “You don’t seem the type.”

“It works to my advantage,” Merlin said with a smirk. “You wouldn’t believe the kinds of things I’ve gotten away with because I don’t seem the type.”

“Sneaky fellow. And why should I trust someone like you to even leave this room with the information you have?”

Merlin shrugged. “You could try to stop me, and you would probably win. You have a knife, I don’t. But I’m up and down this city all the time—running errands for the master and all—so I have a recognizable face. Henry the innkeeper saw me walking up here just now. I think it would be a little suspicious if I vanished all of a sudden.” Merlin forged on, even as Borden’s eyes narrowed and his grip on the dagger grew a little tighter. “But really, what’s the advantage? Trust me, getting into Camelot’s vaults will be infinitely harder without some help. You wouldn’t have gone to Gaius otherwise. Let me in on the cut, and what would probably be weeks of planning, test runs, and observation would be wiped away. I can get you the key, show you where to get in, and tell you the guard positions. The third piece of that triskelion would be yours in a night.”

Borden was thinking on it, his silence made it obvious. It seemed he’d made his decision when the dagger was slipped back into its sheathe. “Pretty promises. You make an appealing argument, but do you expect me to bring you along to find the tomb?” He sneered. “After all, wouldn’t your recognizable face be missed by your master?”

“Ah,” Merlin declared as if he had just remembered something important. “And there’s another reason why you’ll need me. I can get you to the triskelion piece, but I can’t stop you from being followed once the thievery is discovered.”

Borden glared, growling out, “Then what’s the damn point of you?”

Merlin held up his hands in a protest of guilt. “There’s always a guard or two at the vault’s door. You’d have to knock them out, which shouldn’t be too hard, but your presence would be noticed later regardless. That part’s unavoidable. But that’s where I come in.”

He paused, as if trying to build tension, and only went on when Borden barked out an impatient, “Well?”

“In all likelihood, the king himself will lead a party in pursuit. Personal slight, stealing from his vaults, you know? And as his manservant, he’ll be obliged to take me along to handle his luggage and cook his dinner.” Merlin worked up an impressive scowl of contempt. “I can throw them off the trail long enough to keep them off your back, let you grab the egg, then I can break off and join you when we’re close enough. We make for a distant land, sell the egg, and then go our separate ways to live out the rest of our lives like kings,” he concluded merrily, supplying a toothy grin. 

Borden scratched at his beard. “Very sure of yourself, aren’t you? Why take the risk? You’re both Gaius’ apprentice and the king’s servant. Surely you’d have the means and opportunity to… put something into his food, have done with it.”

Burying the jolt of disgust and rage that crawled up his spine, Merlin scrunched up his nose. “And saddle myself with the crime of regicide? No thank you. Thievery and deception for the sake of profit is one thing, but I’d rather not start my life of luxury with a capital offense dogging my heels. Next you’ll be asking me to use magic to get you into the vaults.” He rolled his eyes for extra effect. The last bit might have been slightly overdone, but he was really getting into his role. 

Borden snorted as if Merlin was being unreasonable, but he didn’t push the issue. “Very well. I’d rather not have to stay in this wretched city longer than I have to, so I’ll take you on, but be aware that at the first sign of double crossing, this dagger will find a new home in your scrawny back.”

“Aware and noted,” Merlin replied, that affected, slimy grin working its way back onto his face. He held out a hand to shake. “Just so long as you are aware that the promise is mutual.”

“Deal.” They clasped arms and shook heartily.

Merlin stepped back, turning for the door. “I should be able to get ahold of that key by tonight,” he said over his shoulder. “There’s a door along the northern perimeter ramparts. I’ll meet you there after dark. And after you have the last piece, leave the rest to me. Just focus on getting into that tomb.” He tossed one last smirk over his shoulder. “Both our fortunes are depending on it.” Then he slipped out, closing the door quietly behind him. 

Arthur was still dead asleep when Merlin came in, snoring throatily into his pillow. He had already decided to leave off fetching the key until that night when Arthur went to bed; he was less likely to notice its absence. It would also remove the necessity of the stunt Merlin had pulled the first time to get his hands on it. He scrunched his nose as he walked to the desk and began organizing the jumble of papers. Had he actually gotten away with that? Or was his brain filling in memory holes again?

He had the disaster of a workspace arranged neatly by the time he heard waking rustles from the bed.

“Are you up?” Merlin called. “Or do I need to sing you a merry tune?”

“Do any such thing and you’ll be looking for another job,” the king’s groggy voice replied. “I barely tolerate you most mornings, I don’t think I could stand your caterwauling.” 

Merlin could have made a number of sarcastic replies, some of them a bit too barbed to be in-character, but he restrained even the ones that would have been considered normal. He tried not to be overt about it, how he'd been going a little easier on Arthur since his father's death: a few tasks meant for Arthur completed before they could come to his attention, slightly later mornings, taking a few more verbal punches to allow for stress relief. He wouldn’t step over the boundaries his predetermined relationship with the king would allow, but he had to admit internally that he felt just a bit more at peace when he saw Arthur a little less exhausted in a day, a little more teasing and uplifted. He just seemed younger somehow, and that fit. He even looked boyish, sitting up in bed with his blond hair clumped up and sticking vertically on one side.

Merlin frowned, only for a moment. The image fit, but for some reason he felt like it shouldn’t. 

Arthur heaved himself out of bed, inquiring about breakfast. Merlin absently produced it from the window seat where he had stored it. He was going to have to intersperse a few days of “forgetting it” to make sure his record wasn’t too flawless.

“You can put a hold on the rest of your duties, Merlin. I requested Agravaine to join me shortly and I need you to attend us.”

Merlin ‘hmm’d’ casually. “Will I need to fetch another platter?” he asked, wondering what this discussion might concern. Even with both Merlin and Lancelot keeping an eye on him, Agravaine hadn’t been doing much lately.

“No, just a pitcher of something. Not strong wine.”

Arthur seemed preoccupied. His grumbly morning sarcasm was not nearly at its usual level. That definitely pointed to something of interest in this upcoming meeting. 

Arthur was dressed and going over the first document on his daily stack at the table, and Merlin was putting the finishing touches on the bed when they heard the rap on the door. Arthur bid him enter and Agravaine stepped in, pristine and proper even at this hour. The image was shaken a little as the door slammed shut behind him, abruptly and loudly, and Agravaine jumped. Merlin centered his focus back on the bed. The man really did bring out his pettiest side. That had been almost intentional.

“Have a seat, uncle,” Arthur said, gesturing to the opposite chair. 

Agravaine took it, but he was eyeing Merlin uncertainly. When Merlin smoothed out the last wrinkle and approached the table, Agravaine said, “Not to inconvenience you, sire, but I thought these conversations were best kept in confidence.” 

“I think Merlin’s sat in on enough council meetings that it doesn’t matter at this point,” Arthur replied casually. “Besides, we might need him to fetch some things.” He swilled his drink, took a sip, then set it down with a decisive ‘clunk’. “First, your report.”

Deciding not to protest further, Agravaine did as he was bid. “Well, most importantly, there has still been no sign of Morgana, not since before your ascension to the throne.”

“Something we are still trying to understand.” Arthur’s fingers began drumming against the table top and he frowned darkly. “She was spotted before last Samhain heading for the Seas of Meredor, then she vanished. Then she was seen again, making for Camelot, then disappears yet again. What is she doing?”

“I’m afraid I have no insight, sire,” Agravaine replied. “At least, nothing based in fact.”

“But you seem to have some speculations,” Arthur said frankly.

Agravaine nodded, his demeanor grim. “I don’t believe any of the sightings were connected to an attempted attack, and in my mind there are two options: either Morgana has been testing Camelot’s strengths, in what ways we cannot know, or she has been seeking something else entirely. Allies.”

Arthur leaned back, his shoulders dragged down by an unseen weight. “You’ve mentioned this before, and yet none of our searches have turned up information on sorcerers within our territories.”

“And that is where the danger lies. Sorcerers have resources beyond our understanding. No doubt the petty magicians and druids have become scarce, but truly powerful magic users could be within two miles of the city and we might not even know it.”

Merlin pretended to be distracted by something outside of the window, but his ears were tuned to the conversation. He hadn’t been privy to many of Arthur and Agravaine’s conversations concerning the hunt for Morgana, but from what he had heard, it seemed like Agravaine wasn’t getting anywhere, at least not with his true goal. Unfortunately for him, Emrys wasn’t going to be found any time soon, not so long as Agravaine was scouring for him across the countryside and among the small folk, and Merlin planned to keep things that way as long as possible. He flicked a quick glance toward the table.

Judging by Arthur’s beleaguered expression, they seemed to be hitting familiar beats. “As you have also mentioned before. What can you expect us to do? As you said, if there are powerful sorcerers out there, they have the ability to hide from us no matter how we search. In that case it is in our best interest to bolster defenses rather than spreading ourselves thin.” He leaned forward, the authority in his voice coming through more apparently. It seemed he was getting to the point of why he had called this meeting. “We have followed every lead we’ve managed to dig up on possible sorcerers, and those weren’t many. We’ve looked through old records. We’ve even sent out hunting parties, but there’s been almost nothing to find. Short of ordering a search of every household in the kingdom, uncle, I don’t see what more we can do in this matter.”

Merlin read the concealed tension thrumming under Agravaine’s benign mask. Letting down Morgana was not something to be taken lightly. “But sire—“

“I know that you have the kingdom’s safety at heart,” Arthur cut him off. “But we cannot continue spending resources for a hunt with so little evidence to warrant it. As I said, defense would benefit us more at this stage.”

Agravaine leaned back in his seat. There was a moment’s hesitation before it seemed he decided to play it safe. “Very well. I assume, then, that we’ll be moving on to other topics of concern?”

“If you would.”

“Well, the raiding that occurred at the border last month has been repeated. Reports indicate that those responsible are far too organized to be mere bandits.”

Arthur frowned. “Raiding parties from another nation, then? Those villages they’ve attacked border Caerleon’s kingdom.”

“It seems to be the most logical conclusion.” Agravaine sat forward. “I was afraid this would happen. It is only natural after a shift in leadership, but the fact that the attempt made by King Odin has gone unanswered has no doubt given the neighboring kingdoms even more… ideas, about the state of Camelot’s strength.”

Merlin’s ever-keen eyes caught Arthur’s hands clenching on the armrests of his chair for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty behind his authoritative expression of neutrality. “I have only been king for a few months. Even if trying to retaliate in the middle of winter wasn’t a massively stupid idea, I don’t want my reign to begin with war.”

One of Agravaine’s thick eyebrows rose, and when he spoke it was with that particular tone that was both servile and condescending at the same time. “Regardless, the lack of action leaves Camelot vulnerable to the whims of anyone that wishes to test our power.”

Arthur hunched a bit in his chair, almost as if he had been scolded. Behind both their backs, Merlin scowled. _“Don’t let him cow you,”_ he hissed mentally in Arthur’s direction. _“Learn to trust your instincts.”_

He hadn’t been intending to project anything, but perhaps some of his silent message had transmitted anyway. The king straightened up again.

“Then if they intend to test us, we will just have to meet them head-on,” he declared. “Those men that had been assigned to hunting sorcerers will be redirected to the borders, and see if we can’t show these raiders that Camelot is as strong as it’s ever been.”

Merlin let a smile of satisfaction loose as he approached the table. “Water?” he asked, brandishing the pitcher. 

The meeting continued on to lesser topics. Merlin kept an ear out, but they were of less concern to him, concerning trade agreements and the current training of the knights. Merlin spent more time musing on what exactly Agravaine planned on doing about the Emrys situation, now lacking resources and without a single lead. Merlin planned to keep his guard up; the desperate made more mistakes, but also tended to be more dangerous.

It was around noon when Agravaine departed. Arthur remained seated, appearing lost in thought. Merlin stacked the dishes in silence, suspecting that Arthur had something to say but was working himself up to it. 

“Was he right?” Arthur kept his gaze forward and down, as if he were addressing the tabletop. “Is it foolish to leave what happened alone? Does that make me seem weak?”

Merlin’s true answer was a decisive ‘no’, but it was best not to have the manservant be too direct when he said that. “Like you said, making any moves in the winter would have been stupid.”

“And now?”

Merlin shrugged. “I think it’s better. I know you must be angry with Odin, but it would be a high price for revenge, I think.” He felt a tug on his instincts. Something told him he was approaching this too softly. 

“A high price for revenge maybe,” Arthur said as he stood. “But for the stability of the kingdom, I’m not so sure.”

Merlin’s lips thinned in displeasure. This was a line he was still having difficulty walking, guiding Arthur as he would have in the old days. He would have to figure out that balance soon, though. If he couldn’t, he risked either tipping his hand or letting too many damaging influences take hold, including Arthur’s own ideas about his capability. The next project to set his sights on, once his current business was settled.

“Come along, Merlin,” Arthur said as he made for the door. “Training soon.”

Merlin followed him out, beginning to complain outwardly while his inner self looked forward and plotted for the future, as far as his aged mind could peer. 

“Will that be all?” Merlin asked, hours later. Arthur’s chambers were dim in the candlelight, the last of the sun’s light disappearing outside the window. “I have an important appointment.”

Arthur, stretching widely behind the changing screen, threw back, “My, my, a servant with an important appointment. With whom would that be? A lonely mop?”

“My bed, actually.”

“Yes, yes.” A permissive hand poked out and waved. “You’re dismissed.”

Merlin gave a compulsory nod of the head, then turned for the door. Arthur’s ring of keys sat on the table, plain as day. No touch-and-go magic tricks and half-baked moves this time; with just a push of humming magic to the tips of his fingers, Merlin grabbed hold of the vault key and phased it right through the key ring as if it had been made of smoke. No noise, no fumbling, no problem. He slipped from the room. 

Merlin rolled the key between his long fingers as he made his way through the settling castle. It was quite a different experience, comparing past and present. The naive urgency and spur of the moment thinking from his first attempt seemed completely absurd now. But that all came down to youth and righteous fire, didn’t it? A young dragonlord, determined to fulfill his duty and not using his head.

Granted, his new approach wasn’t without risks either, but if he wanted to stay under the radar, he would need an excuse to follow Borden, or else wait until another opportunity presented itself. That, however, didn’t feel acceptable. Kilgharrah’s death all those years ago sat at the front of his mind. The old dragon had only a few decades left. In his experience, those years could pass by frighteningly fast, and Merlin had a very long road ahead of him. Kilgharrah would not die the last dragon.

Borden was skulking in the shadows as arranged when Merlin opened the rampart door. “Follow me,” he hissed, ducking back in without waiting to see if the thief followed. He would. 

The two descended the dark stairwell, shadows racing away from the torchlight as they went. At the bottom, Merlin halted. “You’re on your own from here. Take the third corridor on the right, and then second on the left. Here’s the key,” he said, holding it out. “There are usually about two to three guards, something I’m sure you can handle.”

“Of course.” Borden took the key and drew his knife. 

“I hope I can assume you won’t be killing anyone?” Merlin asked with an arched eyebrow. Better to err on the side of caution.

“Not if I can help it,” Borden replied.

“Well, help it. I’m not overly fond of money with blood on it.”

Borden threw a last contemptuous smirk over his shoulder. “You’d make a poor career thief, then.” Then he vanished down the passage. 

Merlin waited in stony silence, ears trained and mind churning. Maybe he should have held off. This plan was going to be a fragile one to juggle. He’d dealt with fragile before, but the stakes… it was a bit of a large gamble for him. He could not allow Aithusa to fall into Borden’s hands, even if he had no means of waking him. But if something went wrong, he might have to resort to powerful measures to ensure Borden didn’t escape with the dragon. If Arthur and the knights were there, he might be exposed.

_Would that be so bad?_ The voice in his head sounded a lot like Lancelot. Merlin frowned. Would it be? He’d already seen Arthur’s reaction to that reveal, and while situation could determine how well or poorly he reacted, surely Merlin could manage it. Would some honesty really be such a bad thing?

His gut twisted.

No. No, he couldn’t risk that yet. Agravaine was still in power, and he couldn’t afford any period of Arthur’s anger allowing the man to further his influence. He had to keep up the charade a while longer. He’d just have to be careful, respond quickly. He was good at that. 

His torch had almost guttered out by the time Borden came bolting back around the corner. At Merlin’s questioning stare, a triumphant grin spread across Borden’s face. Merlin nodded. “Well, come on then.” They hurried back the way they’d come. 

Merlin stopped just before the exit, pointedly putting his back to the wall and fixing his eyes on Borden. “You should have until dawn before an alarm goes up. Just head for the tomb, don’t worry about followers. I’ll handle them.”

Borden eyed him up and down. Merlin just caught the twitch of his fingers on the hilt of his dagger before he turned for the door. “Very well, Merlin. Just remember our agreement. No double crossing.”

“I’ll remember it if you do.”

Then they split, Borden slipping out into the night, and Merlin heading back down into the tunnels. 

_I’m coming, Aithusa_ , he promised.


	5. In Pursuit

As he often was these days, Merlin was awake to greet the dawn. He was wandering in memory, and even the spring warmth leaking in from the cracked shutters couldn’t stop the faint trembling in his frame, though he wasn’t aware of it.

If he closed his eyes, he could see Aithusa. Stunted, back hunched painfully, limping on twisted limbs, once snowy scales turned to a sickly, fish-like pallor, and sky blue eyes gone dull with suffering. Nothing at all like the beautiful little creature he had hatched from its egg, and it only grew worse with time.

After Morgana’s death, the white dragon had refused to come near Merlin, and he had never had the heart to command him. He hadn’t stopped trying to reach him, though, at least for a while. He might have failed to protect Aithusa, but he would have done anything to help, to heal him in the aftermath. Yet every time, he was rebuffed, the dragon fleeing to the remotest corners of Albion no matter how his dragonlord had apologized and begged.

The last time Merlin saw Aithusa while he still lived, he had managed to track the dragon to a lonely cave burrowed into a sea cliff. The land and sea around were empty and desolate, the clouded sky so dark it could have been night. And Aithusa, withered and grown no bigger over fifty years of life, clung to the damp shadows at the very back of the cave like a cringing grave worm.

It had broken Merlin’s heart.

One more time, he had tried to approach, quiet and cautious, not drawing too close. One more time he had tried to soothe the dragon with soft words and pleas to come home.

_Please let me help._

Usually Aithusa would only shrink away, crying and hissing if he had no easy pathway to escape. That last time, he had attacked.

At that point he had been too frail to do Merlin much harm at all, no matter how much fire he blew or how he clawed at him. Physically, the only mark Merlin had left with was a long but shallow cut along his arm. In his spirit, though, it felt like he had been ripped open. The desperate, draconic screams echoing nightmarishly in the small cave, the fire that had been almost cold it was so weak, and the hollow madness in those blue eyes had finally confirmed the awful reality for the warlock.

Aithusa was beyond any help. He, the last dragonlord, had failed. Just like he’d failed Arthur and all the others. 

Pain pulsed at Merlin’s temples, bringing him back to reality. He sighed, pressing at the points of pain with his fingers. 

_Not this time,_ he repeated for well over the hundredth time that night. _Not this time. Not this time._

The harsh clang of the alarm bells broke the peaceful morning quiet. Merlin caught the sound of Gaius struggling awake in the other room. He stood quietly. Luckily, as a peasant, he had little enough clothing, so there was no need to change. A quick splash of water on his face to remove the haziness was plenty, and then all he had to do was wait.

“Merlin, are you up?” Gaius called from the door after some minutes.

“Hard not to be.” He poked his head out. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve been summoned to the vaults,” Gaius said, face grim. “There’s been a theft.”

Without wasting time with false words, Merlin yanked on his jacket and made to follow the physician. By the time they made it down, Arthur and Agravaine were already there.

“The lock hasn’t been damaged, which suggests whoever it was had a key,”

Merlin ended up placing himself silently in a corner of the vault, watching as the other three men examined the scene of the robbery. Beneath a calm surface, he was chomping at the bit for all of this prattling to wrap up. He knew he couldn’t just skip straight to the pursuit, and nothing should have changed from before, but he didn’t like the idea of Borden getting farther and farther away with the key to Aithusa. Those bleak memories of the young dragon he’d failed buzzed like agitated wasps in his skull. _Hurry up, damn it,_ he growled internally.

“With all these treasures, this is all they were interested in. What was in here?” Arthur asked, lifting the lid of the ornate and plainly empty box.

Out of the corner of Merlin’s eye, he saw Gaius hesitate for a moment to respond. Did he imagine Gaius also shooting a quick glance his way?

“I believe, sire, one third of a triskelion,” he spoke up. “A type of key, a key that, according to legend, opens the ancient tomb of Ashkenar.”

Arthur straightened. “I remember my father talk of such a tomb.” He twisted to face the physician. “It contained a dragon’s egg.”

Gaius paused for another moment. “It has been said.” This time Merlin was sure Gaius had glanced at him. Merlin shifted from one foot to the other, impatience growing. 

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“Well, it is possible, sire. The wealth and wisdom of Ashkenar are without equal.”

“Is the egg still there?” interjected Agravaine.

“I can’t be certain,” Gaius replied. “But to my knowledge, no one has disturbed the tomb for more than four hundred years.”

Arthur turned fully to face Gaius, a growing intensity in his voice. “But with this triskelion, someone could?”

“Sire,” said Agravaine, “A dragon’s egg can live for a thousand years. Even today, it could still hatch, and another dragon will be born into this world.”

Merlin caught the motion of Arthur clenching a fist. “So all my father’s work to rid the world of these monsters would be undone,” he surmised in a soft yet resolute voice.

_Sorry, Arthur. That’s the idea. I have my own legacy to uphold._

“Then we have no choice,” the king declared, starting for the door. “We must hunt down this intruder, destroy the egg.” He swept past Merlin, Agravaine in tow. Merlin hung back, falling into step behind Gaius just as the guard moved to shut the door. 

As they walked back up to the physician’s tower, Merlin ran through things in his head again. _I shouldn’t need to intervene much. All that will really change is that I’ll distract Arthur and the knights somehow, rather than have Borden try to poison them. Maybe a sleeping draught in the stew, or spook the horses into running off. Shouldn’t be too difficult._

“Merlin.”

_Then I just need to take the egg. With my abilities it can be quick, once the door is open._

“Merlin?”

_Although, I have no idea what kind of magic warding the tomb has. Never got the chance to test it. Will I be able to transport myself in? Well, I suppose there’s no way of knowing until I get there._ He scrubbed at his eyes. He probably should have slept.

“Merlin!”

Merlin emerged from his thoughts, fully taking in his surroundings again. They were back in their chambers, and Gaius was closing the door. He had a strange expression on his face. “Is there something wrong?” Gaius asked.

Merlin frowned, confusion pushing all his planning aside. “No. Why would you think that?”

Gaius’s eyebrows rose. He seemed just as perplexed as Merlin. “I would have thought you would be angry that I hadn’t told you about the egg. And now it’s in danger.” His words were apologetic, but the tone was searching. 

It was a struggle to keep his expression neutral as a shock of unpleasant realization swept through the warlock. He had missed something. He had completely forgotten to take Gaius’s part in this situation into account. If he had never approached Gaius about the egg in the first place, then why the hell would he be acting so calmly if this was supposed to be his first time hearing about it? His tongue was frozen for a telling moment, before his skill with half-truths came back to him. “What’s the point of getting angry?” he deflected. “What’s done is done, and all I can do is make sure that the egg doesn’t come to harm. It’s my duty as a dragonlord.”

It sounded good, but the moment it was out of his mouth Merlin knew he’d gotten it wrong. Gaius’s eyes were now narrowing suspiciously.

“Did you know?” he asked pointedly. “Were you involved in this?”

“No, I didn’t and I wasn’t,” Merlin said flatly. “But now that I know, I can’t waste time. Whoever it is, I can’t allow them to take that egg. Excuse me.” He whirled on his heel, heading for his room. He’d slipped up, but he couldn’t burn time trying to rectify it now. He’d just have to deal with it when he came back. It wasn’t that big of a deal. 

Merlin had one foot on the stairs up to his room when Gaius spoke again. This time, there was anger in his words. “Something’s going on, Merlin, I know it is. And not just today. There’s been something different about you for some time now.” He caught Merlin in a second pause, and pressed on. “Do you think me an idiot? I’m not such a heavy sleeper that I don’t notice the nights you stay awake, like you did last night, or when you disappear to who-knows-where. You’re distracted most of the time, no matter how you play it off. And… you don’t talk to me the way you used to, my boy. I’ve left it this long because you are your own man, and I believed whatever it was would come out on its own time, as it always does. But I’ve run out of patience; I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

Despite the shivers that were trying to work their way up Merlin’s spine, he couldn’t help a tremulous smile. Another idiot mistake on his part. How could he have expected to fool Gaius for long? The man had been like a father to him, and Merlin’s foggy memories of his own character couldn’t possibly measure up. His heart hammered against his ribs. Really, he shouldn’t be this… unsettled. It wasn’t like Gaius could determine the true meaning of his suspicions, there was no way. The truth was ludicrous. All the same, he still felt like a harsh spotlight had suddenly glanced across him. He took a deep breath. Steady.

“Is it any wonder, with all that’s changed?” he asked as he turned back to his friend, recalling the conversation they had had that one winter morning over breakfast. “Like I’ve said before, Arthur’s king now. Things can’t be how they used to.” Gaius continued to scowl, unsatisfied, and Merlin considered. Would it be better to lie, to lean closer to the old Merlin he only partially remembered, or to go all-in on half-truths once more? He decided on the latter. His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Gaius. I didn’t mean to insult you or… or lock you out. I just… didn’t want you to worry.”

“About what?” the physician asked pointedly.

Merlin huffed a laugh. “Everything I guess. The nights I’ve been leaving, I’ve been checking the forests, warding them, practicing my magic. And everything else…” He stopped. He didn’t really have time to give the adequate explanation Gaius would no doubt require, but he could placate him until he was prepared. “I’m sorry. I can’t explain everything that’s been going on right now, I need to go. But I will tell you when I get back, I promise.” He looked Gaius straight in the eyes and put all the sincerity he could into his voice. “A new age is coming, Gaius, and I have to see it through. I have to grow up, for everyone’s sake.”

He caught the flash of sadness in Gaius’s expression, and he didn’t seem to want to let it go, but the urgency of the dragon egg’s peril could not be ignored. He gave a nod. “I expect that promise to be kept.”

“It will be. I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

  
Just as it had happened before, the king, the knights, and Merlin set out from Camelot. Well, not exactly as it had happened. Lancelot galloped just on Arthur’s heel, and Merlin itched to spur his horse on faster, knowing exactly where Borden was headed. He would have to stick to the plan, though; the knights’ tracking skills would get them there fast enough. At least he hoped. Who knew what the future might hold in store. Their steeds kicked up road turf as they cleared Camelot’s outer fields and farmsteads, spurring on southeastward into the broader wilderness of the kingdom. The tracks of Borden’s horse led the way. 

The day was a beautiful, cool and bright with a breeze running alongside them like an invisible eighth companion. Merlin, however, had little mind for it all. His thoughts were focused ahead, on what came next. Between here and the hidden valley where Ashkenar’s tomb stood, there should be no major differences. Borden might attempt to throw them off his trail, but Merlin could probably find ways to subtly turn the group back onto the correct course if they were mislead. He hoped that once they were in the valley that Borden would take his advice and just head for the tomb. It would be easier, and it would keep Merlin’s group out of any harm’s way.

“Merlin, slow down!”

His head spun around as Arthur drew level on his left side. Frustrated at letting his thoughts run away with him for the second time today, Merlin slowed to match the rest of the group’s pace, now at a sedate trot to give the horses a small break. Arthur was eyeing him. “What’s lit a fire under you?” he asked. “You’re usually the one eager to hurry in the _other_ direction whenever we go on these quests.”

“Well, there’s usually more danger than just one thief,” Merlin said, focusing on the tracks instead of the inquisitive look aimed at him. “And the dragon’s egg,” he added ambiguously, betting on Arthur to extrapolate, which he did. The king’s gaze grew distant and dark.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze breaking from Merlin and turning toward the far distance ahead of them. “We cannot fail in this mission. We can’t afford to let another dragon be born into this world.”

“Are they so bad as that?” Gwaine asked from behind them. “We’ve fought our share of magic beasties and managed.”

It was Leon that answered him. “Maybe we have, but dragons are something else entirely.” He bore a look similar to Arthur’s, grim and haunted. “None of you were in Camelot at the time to experience the great dragon’s attack.”

“You’ve mentioned it before, Leon,” Elyan said, “But you’ve never spoken of it in detail.”

“I would rather not.” The tall knight swallowed. “Camelot has seen its share of magical attacks in the past, but however challenging they were, at least it always felt like we had a fighting chance. Against that dragon, though… It felt more like fighting a force of nature than a beast. Nothing we did could hurt it, or drive it back. Every night it would return, not to conquer or take anything. Just to burn, and to kill. I’ve rarely ever felt so helpless.”

The group fell silent, and every face had gone dour. Merlin was no exception, though his reasons went beyond merely the horror of Sir Leon’s recollection. That ancient guilt had been dredged back up, for the part he had played in that particular disaster, though he didn’t dwell on it long. It was just another mistake he had made in his youthful ignorance, one he didn’t intend on repeating, and that was the only thing that counted now. For all his power, raising the dead—or at least unspoiled versions of them—eluded even him.

It did bring back some anger at Kilgharrah, though. Merlin understood now the suffering his kin had undergone, but all the spouting about uniting Albion and then turning around and taking his revenge on innocent people that had nothing to do with his imprisonment was something that could never be truly forgiven. But now that he was willing to work with Merlin, penance for them both could be made with time.

After a few minutes they picked up the pace again. As the hours slipped by the dense forests began to become patched, splitting into pockets of trees interspersed among high, rolling hills.

Merlin, as before, was the first to spot the smoke as they crested another round peak. “There,” he called, pointing ahead toward a wooded valley between the high hills, where a thin bluish plume was drifting up into the sky. This time he made sure to stay in line with all the rest, but the urge to kick his mare into a full gallop was only ever just restrained.

The campsite was abandoned as Merlin had expected, and after ranging just a little farther ahead Arthur called a stop for the night. Merlin peered ahead into the darkening forest. He knew, he _knew_ that he had to keep a clear head about this, but his protective instincts called him forward like a force beyond his control. He could not, _would not_ , let Aithusa come to harm again. He didn’t think he could bear it again. Even after all these years, he couldn’t decide what had ended up hurting more: finding Aithusa’s wasted corpse half-sunken in a foggy fen, alone and inglorious, or the look on Kilgharrah’s face when he had brought the young dragon to him to be burned.

Merlin pressed at his temples again, teeth clenching against another oncoming headache. He couldn’t afford this level of fear and disquiet. It was vital that his mind be clear and focused, every action deliberate and measured. He sucked in air. _Find your center and hold to it._

“Merlin, stop lolligagging.”

Inhaling one more time, Merlin turned his mare about and followed the others as they left the road, seeking out a good place to tie up the horses. 

Urgent missions such as this required that the troop be able to pick up and move quickly if necessary, so setting up camp came down only to building a fire, throwing down their sleeping pallets, and assigning a watch rotation. And of course cooking, on Merlin’s part. He set about it while the other knights, who had kept themselves professionally serious while the hunt was on, were now settling back into a more relaxed state. Merlin went about his work, trying to maintain his center, but he was finding it surprisingly difficult. Every time he tried to concentrate on calming himself, restraining that impulse to just take the direct approach and charge off on his own, he found himself wandering into agitation and unpleasant memories again. The fire snapped and jumped in response to his mood.

Subtly, Merlin peeked over his shoulder. The others were chatting, settling into the usual—and rather loud— camaraderie. And Merlin found, rather unpleasantly, that he didn’t like it. At least, not right now. He frowned, turning back to his stew pot. 

_Well, I guess it’s not totally strange,_ he reasoned to himself. _I’ve grown more used to solitude than extended company since... well, lately. And this is my first overnight expedition with them since I came back. Even in Camelot I can retreat to my room, or into my work when I need to think. It’s just an adjustment period, like everything else._

Regardless, it and that damned recurring headache was interfering with his ability to concentrate, and that frustrated him more than he would have guessed.

When the meager stew began to bubble, Merlin took the pot from the fire and began to serve the group. He spooned a serving into Leon’s bowl and moved on to Percival. A hand caught him by the sleeve.

“Whoa. I’m famished,” Leon said, pushing his bowl forward.

Wordlessly, Merlin obliged. He stepped sideways toward Percival, and then to Gwaine. Again, when he tried to move on to Lancelot, he was halted. “I’m hungry as a horse,” Gwaine said with a cheery smirk. A few snickers came from the others.

Merlin, harsher than he had intended, shook off the light grip on his wrist and spooned out another serving. “Anyone _else_ looking for seconds?” he bit out.

The surprised looks he received told Merlin that his words had also come out more sharply than he had meant them to sound. Unconsciously, his gaze flicked to the side, to Arthur. The king’s eyes were searching and confused. Merlin clenched his teeth shut, served Lancelot, then deposited the pot by the fire. “I’ll go feed the horses,” he said, before plunging into the foliage, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t fleeing. _Adjustment period,_ he repeated to himself. _And I was up all night, I’m tired. This will pass._

He couldn’t deny the shoulder-loosening relief that came once he’d moved outside the range of the campsite, the voices fading away. Now he was left with just the sound of wind in the trees and the soft whinnying of horses. He set to tending Arthur’s horse first, as usual turning to planning ahead in order to direct his thoughts toward something useful. Hopefully it would give him enough space to wind down before he went back.

Without distractions, Merlin was able to turn his mind toward something more positive, though it didn’t lower his anticipation any. With the months he’d had to think about this excursion, he had realized that even more than a dragon’s egg could await him in the tomb. Merlin had never thought about it before, but if Ashkenar had been in possession of a dragon’s egg, who was to say he didn’t have other draconic artifacts stored away in his tower? There could be more information on the dragonlords hidden away there than Merlin had managed to find over hundreds of years. The desire to know if this was true only contributed to his need to get there as fast as possible, but at least it was a hopeful inspiration, rather than the fear of repeating an old failure.

A strong breeze sent the branches above his head rattling loudly, carrying fallen leaves and seemingly the faintest suggestion of a voice with it. Merlin’s ears pricked, though he knew the voice was coming from within his own mind. _“Emrys…”_ it whispered, as faint and insubstantial as the call of a spirit. _“Emrys…”_

Underbrush rustled loudly behind him, and Merlin spun around. It was not the source of the ghostly voice that had come to join him in the clearing, but Arthur. 

When Arthur saw Merlin staring at him blankly, he straightened up and coughed into his hand. Clearly uncomfortable, so Merlin could only assume an attempt at addressing something related to emotions was coming. He wondered which of the knights had persuaded Arthur into it. Probably Lancelot.

Sentiment was not one of the king’s strong suits, so he opted to jump right to the point. “Mind explaining what’s got you so twisted up today?”

Merlin sighed, knowing he had shown too much to be able to lie his way out of it. “I’ve just had things on my mind. It’s nothing.” He went back to feeding the horses.

Arthur drifted after him. After a moment, he hedged the question, “I’m guessing it has something to do with dragons?”

Merlin paused, feeling an unpleasant shock similar but smaller in scale to the one Gaius had given him that morning. He shook a head at his own paranoia. “Well, we are hunting a dragon’s egg, sire.” He added a bit of lighthearted snide to it. “It’s a little expected, don’t you think?”

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and it took all of Merlin’s restraint to hold back the instinctive lash of magic. As it was, he stiffened so much that there was no way Arthur hadn’t felt it.

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Arthur sounded both stern and…concerned?

“What?” was all Merlin could say as he turned around to face his master.

Arthur took a moment, eyes darting as he began to cobble his words together. What he said was not at all what Merlin was expecting. “Listen. I know I tease you about being a girl on a regular basis, which you are, but for this… You heard Leon earlier. He’s one of the bravest knights in Camelot, and the very memory of that dragon… You were there too. You were on the battlements right alongside us, you helped put out the fires every morning, you helped Gaius tend to the losses. If you’re afraid… well, this one time you have the freedom. You don’t need to feel like you have to hide it.”

Merlin blinked, thoroughly caught off-guard. “You…” He stopped. He had been mistaken. This wasn’t an encounter that had been prompted by anyone else. Arthur had approached him on his own, trying to _comfort_ him about, what? Assumed trauma?

Arthur went on, still looking a little out of his depth but not relenting. “And I wonder if it might be even worse for you, what with that business with the dragonlord.”

“The dragonlord?” Merlin asked flatly, still trying to find his footing.

“Yes. How he died.” Arthur swallowed, his gaze dropping. “You know, when I think about it now, after my father…” He cut off abruptly, took a moment, then tried again with only a hint of fragility in his voice. “After that… I’ve realized that I might have been insensitive back then. I know what it feels like now, to have someone die for you. You might not have known the dragonlord long, but I know you’re that kind of person who would take it to heart anyway. That, on top of everything else, and facing the dragon head on…”

“Arthur.”

The king stopped. Merlin stared at him, head shaking slightly. This was… out of the norm. Off pattern. Sure, Arthur had never been _heartless_ , but… There wasn’t even a manly punch on the arm coming, from what he could see! “What brought this on?” he asked. 

Arthur actually stopped his fidgeting and looked Merlin in the eyes. “Now don’t think I’m going to coddle you like this all the time. But after these last few months, and all that you’ve done for me after I lost my father, I owe you at least the consideration. Oh don’t look so shocked,” he said gruffly as Merlin’s brows drew together. “I’m not a complete clotpole, to borrow a phrase. Skimming some of my duties on to your plate, sending Guinevere my way just when I need it. I do appreciate that, Merlin. You’ve been a loyal and steadfast friend to me.” A gloved hand reached out to grip Merlin by the shoulder again, but this time it was a steadying gesture. “If there’s anything you need…” He trailed off, but every word was spoken with utmost sincerity. Before Merlin could reply, Arthur gave him a pat of finality and retreated, disappearing into the foliage as he made his way back toward camp.

Merlin found himself caught dead between two very different emotional tides. A swell of pride and affection, bigger than any he had felt since returning, had him almost smiling. He couldn’t quite manage it, though, for the opposite pit of shame that cracked open and threatened to swallow all those good feelings away. The comfort, while heartwarming, was pointed in the wrong direction. Merlin wasn’t fearful of the dragons and the havoc he’d seen one wreak, he was looking to bring another one into the world. And while it was a pleasant surprise at first to see Arthur’s concern, it meant that Merlin had once again miscalculated. He had underestimated Gaius’s perceptiveness, and now he had underestimated Arthur’s heart and care for his friends. It felt like a terrible disservice.

Merlin’s shoulders dropped. How much did he really know, after all? It seemed his memory was even less reliable than he had believed. His arms crossed protectively over his chest, as if he could keep every insecurity and fear locked in where it couldn’t trouble him.

“It’s going to come back to bite me sooner or later,” he whispered. His nearby mare whickered softly, and he let out a humorless chuckle. “Right. When does it ever not?” Steeling himself, he trudged back to camp.

When the knights began piling the empty plates and bowls into his arms, voices cheeky but also just a little bit cautious, he allowed himself to smile. He even laughed with the rest when Leon pulled the last remaining platter out from behind his back.

* * *

_“Emrys…”_

Merlin twitched in his pallet. He had not gone to sleep. He had been waiting for the call.

The others had long since turned in, and Merlin had little trouble slipping away into the black forest. The repeated whisper in the back of his mind guided him onward through the thick undergrowth, further and further away. Luckily he had long since lost any fear of the dark.

He crested a small slope, and there they were, a pack of druids clustered among the thin trees, robed and hooded. As he stepped up to join them, they all straightened as if to attention. 

One of their number stepped forward and drew back his hood. Merlin knew his face, and after a few moments, his name came back as well. Iseldir.

The druid’s pale blue eyes looked him up and down, and Merlin could spot the moment when Iseldir knew. To what extent, he didn’t know, but the druids were closer to the spirit of magic than most others. Their eyes could discern much more than the average person’s.

“Emrys,” Iseldir said quietly, so quietly it was hardly more than an exhale. “You have changed since the last time we spoke. You have become… more.” There was much left unsaid, packed into that inadequate “more”. 

Merlin nodded. What else could be said? “You have a message for me?”

“Yes. We know of your quest. We sought to guide you, and to warn you of the dangers that await in Ashkenar’s tomb. But perhaps they are not so great as we had believed them to be. Not anymore.” The druid took a slow step forward, eyes still peering. He wouldn’t see much, not with Merlin shielding himself as much as he was, but the trained eye could find cracks, if it knew to look for them. “How has this come to be, Emrys?” he asked. Was it wonder in his low voice, or concealed fear?

Merlin breathed out deeply. “That’s too long a story to tell. But I can tell you that the time is drawing near.” He turned about, speaking to all the surrounding druids, voice rising in volume and power as he drew himself up to his full height. “I have been idle too long, and for that I am sorry. But Albion’s time is coming. I will do everything in my power to make it so. Soon, magic will be free, and a new age will be everyone’s to revel in. No matter what it takes.”

A ripple of excited whispers went up, blending with the wind in the leaves and the noises of nighttime.

Iseldir merely watched him, face carefully controlled, pale eyes blank. “I hope this is true, Emrys,” he murmured, for Merlin’s ears only. “But destiny is ever an unpredictable thing. Go cautiously. For all our sakes.”


	6. A Ripple Becomes a Wave

In hindsight, Merlin should have known his luck wouldn’t hold.

Well, to be accurate, he had known that eventually something would go wrong. He just hadn’t expected things to start unraveling because of such a tiny miscalculation. _His_ tiny miscalculation. 

Perhaps it was the overestimation of his own capabilities and awareness that seemed to be coming back to haunt him over the past few days, coming around again for another pass. Perhaps it was that driving need that could be his own determination to right past mistakes or something supernatural in his dragon’s blood calling him toward his kin that made him reckless, more aggressive than he should have been. Maybe it was because when, at the height of noon the day following his visit from the druids, he and the knights passed through the cave tunnel below the mountains, broke through the sheltering waterfall, and climbed the slopes to behold the towering, long lost tomb of Ashkenar in the valley below, Merlin was filled with excitement and hope, and so lost some of his careful self-control. 

As they trekked into the wood-shaded valley, making a beeline for the great tower, Merlin kept his eyes and ears sharp. He remembered that Borden might attack them at some point, but he wasn’t sure where. Unlike the first time, Borden had made no attempts to hide his trail, or throw off pursuers. As the hours passed, Merlin hoped, though did not expect, that Borden had heeded his advice.

No such luck, unfortunately.

A sense of familiarity hit him at the same time as he heard the faint snap and whistle of a released crossbow bolt. In an instant, he was moving, crashing into the living brick wall that was Percival with a holler of “Look out!” They collided with the opposite side of the ravine, behind an outcrop and out of range. Merlin only then noticed that the quarrel was buried in the ground where he himself had been standing.

_Underhanded rat,_ he growled internally. 

The rest of the knights had already responded, falling back behind juts in the ravine, swords drawn and necks craning as they tried to pinpoint the shooter. 

_Damn it all!_ Merlin glared upward. He shut his physical eyes to block the golden glow, and opened his mind’s eye. Borden was crouched on the ledge almost directly over Merlin and Percival’s heads, loading up another quarrel. 

He retreated back into himself, eyes gone back to blue as he opened them again. He caught Arthur’s attention with a sharp wave of his hand, then pointed upward. As Arthur nodded and prepared to make a dash for it, Merlin readied himself for a strike, intending to knock the crossbow from Borden’s hands. Looking back on the moment later, Merlin would curse himself for not recognizing the build-up of power coursing under his skin, the trembling tension that came on whenever Arthur was remotely close to danger, the lightning pulse in his veins that said his control had slipped its bonds.

Arthur pelted across the ravine, Borden’s finger twitched on the trigger, and Merlin let loose a blast of power much bigger than he’d intended. Instead of ripping the crossbow from Borden’s hands and dashing it against a tree, an invisible force smashed into the thief from the side and sent him tumbling, down the curling, steep slope he was crouched on and then into a brief free fall into the ravine itself.

He hit the ground with a painful ‘thud’ and a whoosh of air being driven from his lungs. Borden only had time to roll onto his side with an agonized groan, and Merlin could only freeze as he realized what he’d done, before the knights were on Borden.

“Get your hands off me!” Borden hissed breathlessly as he was hauled to his feet, Leon holding him on one side and Elyan on the other. Merlin hung back, thoughts swirling in a torrent, the chief among them being, _This isn’t good._

“I see no reason to do any such thing,” said Arthur, coming up almost nose to nose with Borden, the imperious, stony face he put on to project ‘stoic king’ on full display. “You have, after all, broken into and stolen from Camelot’s vaults, knocked out guards in the royal employ, and have just now attacked myself and my men. Unless of course you’re going to try and convince us that that wasn’t you,” he said, waving his hand sarcastically. “If so, I hope the story you’ve cooked up is a good one.”

Borden glared so fiercely that it seemed he was trying to bore a hole in Arthur’s skull with his gaze alone. Then for a split second his eyes went to Merlin. 

Merlin, who was trying to think ten steps ahead of his blunder, shook his head almost imperceptibly. He could probably still salvage things, but he needed Borden to keep his mouth shut. Not that Borden had listened to him last time.

It seemed Merlin’s luck hadn’t completely abandoned him, for Borden kept silent, allowing Arthur to continue. “Where is it?” the king demanded.

Silence.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Search him.”

Gwaine set to the task. As Borden snarled and Gwaine sent smarmy quips back at him, Lancelot sidled over to Merlin’s side. “Are you alright?” he asked under his breath. “You were almost hit.”

“I’ve had much worse shot at me than crossbow bolts, Lancelot.” Bullets and a variety of magic spells came to mind, and he’d actually been hit with those on multiple occasions. 

“You sure? You’re looking a little out of it.”

Merlin made a sound that was verging on a disapproving cluck. “Between you and Gaius, I’m feeling more and more like a newborn duckling every day.”

Lancelot actually laughed softly at that. “Sorry about that. I know you’re not helpless. You’ve just grown so serious these days, it’s hard not to feel worried sometimes.”

Merlin stiffened up for a moment. _Damn it all again, Lancelot too?_ He really was a worse actor than he’d thought. 

He was spared from having to deflect yet another concerned inquiry into his behavior by a triumphant noise from Gwaine as he drew something out from one of Borden’s inner coat pockets. Merlin’s heart almost tripped on a beat. The golden triskelion gleamed brightly in Gwaine’s palm, winking when it caught a shaft of sunlight. 

Merlin had to stop himself from jerking forward a step as the triskelion was handed over to Arthur. The king weighed it in his palm for a moment, before addressing the whole group. “Tie up the thief. He’ll remain that way until we return to Camelot.” Then Arthur turned away, gaze angled upward to peer above the leaf canopy. The top of the tomb loomed ahead of them. “Now we must deal with the dragon.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched so hard he almost shattered a tooth.

With how out-of-character he was already acting, he couldn’t afford to slip further. Wordlessly, he pulled a coil of rope from his pack and handed it to Percival, all the while shooting looks at Borden. He could still fix this.

A hard hand collided with his chest. It was Arthur, triskelion in hand. “Hold on to that, will you?” he said as he dropped it into Merlin’s waiting palms. Addressing the whole group, he called out, “Hurry with the prisoner. We should be able to reach the tomb by nightfall, if not before.”

A few minutes later, they set off again, a stumbling Borden in tow, leashed by a length of rope to Percival. Merlin walked at the rear. The sun shone down through the tree tops and burned on the back of his neck. They would make good time at this rate. The first time, with Borden’s attack having wounded Percival, they had been compelled to stop earlier than they would have. This time, with the thief caught and the party uninjured, nothing would stop them from both reaching the tomb _and_ entering it.

It was a turn of events Merlin was ashamed to admit he hadn’t really accounted for. When he had speculated on what might go wrong, it had always involved Borden getting away with Aithusa somehow, or the tomb being destroyed before Merlin could get Aithusa out. The thought that Arthur and the knights might end up the primary danger to the young dragon had not occurred, and it made him considerably anxious.

_Don’t go losing your head. It’s not so bad. All it will take is some careful timing and running some distraction. Find your center. Hold to it._

He set his sight on the top of the tomb. _I won’t fail you again._

The ground began sloping steeper and steeper the further they went, and the rotted piles of last year’s leaf fall and an unstable layer of shale stone beneath that made the going somewhat treacherous. For the sure-footed knights and the quick-footed Merlin it was not much of a challenge, but for Borden, bound and without the use of his arms, it was much more difficult. When he slipped up and fell on his behind for the third time in a quarter of an hour, Merlin slid down to join him and Percival.

“I’ll make sure he stays on his feet,” Merlin said to Percival, hoisting the scowling Borden upright.

“Thanks, Merlin,” said Percival with a nod. They kept moving, Merlin’s arm now looped through one of Borden’s elbows.

When he was sure that no one was looking, Merlin began to whisper, barely moving his lips. “I told you to just head for the tomb,” he hissed.

“And I thought you were going to delay them,” Borden spat back under his breath. 

“I was waiting until we were close. After all, I didn’t want to be stuck far away while you took the egg and made a run for it. I’m not an idiot. Though after you tried to _shoot me_ back there, I should just leave you to whatever fate Arthur has in mind.” At least Borden didn’t seem to have caught on that he’d been attacked with magic.

Borden snorted. “You won’t leave me. You need me. It’s why you’re bothering to risk talking to me right now. Without me, you have no scapegoat, and either the suspicion falls on you or you let your king destroy the egg.”

That previously strained tooth was put at risk again as Merlin’s jaw tightened. Unfortunately, Borden was half-right. “Well, neither of us are getting the egg unless we cooperate, understand?”

An impudent tug from Borden was his only protest before he grumbled, “You’d better have a plan.”

“I do, and it’s a fairly simple one if we _both_ stick to it.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“At this point, we probably can’t stop them from getting into the tomb first, but I think I can delay them from getting the egg until nightfall. They probably won’t keep searching at that point. I’ll volunteer for one of the night watches, then I’ll let you out. You get the egg, scarper, and we’re home free.” At least, we meaning Merlin and Aithusa. If all went according to plan, Borden would never come out of that tower.

Borden threw him a contemptuous glance from the corner of his eye. “Easier said than done. How do you plan on diverting them for hours?”

“I have my ways. Now shut up and walk.”

The light was angled far in the west by the time the ground began to even out. The tomb was no longer a distant landmark, but a looming monolith towering above their heads.

“Let’s find a place to set up camp,” Arthur called.

It didn’t take much searching to find a loamy clearing nestled in the shadow of the tomb. They threw down their supplies and put together a quick fire before Arthur stood to address the group.

“Leon, Lancelot, you’ll stay here with the prisoner,” Arthur commanded. “The rest of you,” he said, turning to Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, and Merlin, “You will come with me to find and destroy the egg.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Merlin piped up.

“What do you think we came here for, Merlin, to have a tea party?” The words were mocking as usual, but lacked their usual bite. Arthur really was holding to his more sensitive approach.

“No, I mean…” Merlin gestured widely to the great tower, anxious caution in his voice. “Places like this, places with a history of magic, they can be dangerous. There could be, I don’t know, traps or curses in there. Remember the tomb we found under Camelot with the treasure in it? Shouldn’t we at least wait until morning? I think Gaius said some enchantments are stronger at night.” Gaius had said no such thing, and though it was true that some spells waxed or waned in strength according to the time, he doubted any of those were put in place here.

Arthur did not immediately brush off his words, taking a moment to think on them. “You know, for once Merlin’s paranoia isn’t unfounded. We still need to go in, but it’s best if we’re careful. And we must be thorough. Who knows what else is hidden away in there. Alright then,” he said, stooping near the pile of supplies they had assembled and drawing out a torch. “Grab your lights, men.”

It was the most Merlin had hoped for. Throwing one more cautioning glare toward the sulking Borden, Merlin grabbed a torch of his own and, after a moment’s contemplation, grabbed his own pack as well. Then he followed after the others.

Only a few short minutes hike from their campsite, they emerged from the forest at the base of the tomb. The five of them peered up, up, and up. In the early evening light, the tower had gone from sun-washed umber to a mountain of shadow, and its spire seemed to reach the very heavens themselves.

“Quite a set-up for a dead man,” Gwaine said idly. “Seems a bit of a waste to me.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s its only purpose,” said Arthur. “If this Ashkenar is hoarding a dragon’s egg here, I doubt it’s the only relic he collected.”

“Arthur, look,” Elyan said, pointing. On the south-facing side of the tower, there was an open entryway about a tall man’s height off the ground. It yawned black and sightless, giving the designation of tomb a chilling reality. 

“Well then,” said Arthur, “Merlin, you first.” The wide-eyed stare he got in return set him laughing. “Come now, only joking.” He gave Merlin a reassuring pat on the back before taking the lead. Merlin shook his head just slightly as he followed, the tower’s shadow like a great weight on his back. 

The moment he was boosted up inside, Merlin felt a shift, like he had passed into another world. It was like gravity had reversed, no longer pulling him toward the ground, but upward to the topmost chamber of the tower. It took almost all of his willpower to keep from sprinting headlong for the stairs. _Not just yet,_ he pleaded to the towing force above his head. _I’ll come for you, I promise._

The sound of flint being struck echoed in the narrow hall, and a few sparks flashed before the torch in Elyan’s hand burst into flame.

“We’ll work our way up from the bottom,” Arthur said as they lit the rest of the torches. “The egg might not be the only dangerous magical artifact in here, and those cannot be allowed to survive either.”

Merlin swallowed, relief and unease warring inside him. He might not even have to delay them much if they planned to search thoroughly. Still, any magical relics preserved in here being destroyed was not an alternative that eased his mind. Even so, he had to know his priorities. Aithusa came before anything else.

Scanning the passages branching around them, Arthur said, “Merlin and I will take the forward hall. The rest of you will head down the righthand passage.” On that note, the king set off, the darkness receding before the torchlight. 

It was, appropriately, quiet as the grave. The halls were narrow and low, belying the grandeur of the outer structure, and all sound seemed deadened. Their footsteps on the stone floor, their breathing, and the rush of flames all sounded muffled as if wrapped within a coverlet. Neither of them thought, or dared, to speak.

After a time, Arthur halted, holding the torch up high. “There’s a doorway ahead. No, there are two.” He stepped forward, and as he did, Merlin heard the faint grinding of loose stone.

“Arthur, look out!”

Arthur’s warrior reflexes served him well. He leapt backward just as iron pikes shot out from a line of wall sconces they had not noticed before. “What is it with these sorcerer types and their booby traps?” Arthur groused, brushing himself off.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure Ashkenar was a sorcerer.”

“Oh, shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin raised a critical eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward, making sure to avoid the trigger spot. “I’d imagine,” he said, eyes fixed intently ahead, “They put down traps because there’s something worth protecting.” Of the two doorways standing open before him, one on the left and one on the right, Merlin chose the left door. Brandishing his torch high, he let the orange light flood the room.

His jaw dropped.

“Merlin, what do you see?” The light in the room grew brighter as Arthur joined him. He, too, froze, eyes wide in awe. “By the gods…”

Unlike the hallway outside, the room they had entered was massive. In fact, it was more of a great hall itself, a giant vault. The ceiling soared above them in darkness, out of range of the torchlight. The walls, though, were made perfectly clear, and they were magnificent things to behold. They gleamed white-gold and were carven, shaped with such mastery that it seemed almost impossible. Crowding the room in rows and blocks were racks, chests, armoires, and shelves, overflowing with weaponry, heraldry, and armor, their metal plates and points winking back sparks at them. And from the far wall, a great statue jutted. It took the shape of a mighty dragon in flight, wings spread from wall to wall, jaws open and ready to spit flame. The edifice was suspended above the ground as if the beast were bursting through the stone. 

“This is…” Merlin whispered in a strangled voice, not truly having anything to say.

“I guess Gaius was right,” said Arthur. “I can’t imagine many equals to this.” He strode forward, gawking at the rows of weapons. On the pommels of the hilts was stamped a badge of a spiraling dragon, wings spread in flight. 

Merlin didn’t follow. His attention was drawn instead to the walls and their carvings. His arm was beginning to ache from holding the torch up, but he paid it no mind. He stared upward, heart thundering painfully against his ribs.

They weren’t just carvings. They were a story, chiseled into the walls with as much beautiful detail as could be woven into a colorful tapestry. In the story they told, dragons wheeled in the sky, hatchlings burst from their eggs, firestorms rivaled the sun… and alongside the dragons, there were men. Speaking to them, watching their young, and riding them.

Merlin blinked rapidly and realized his eyes were wet. “Dragonlords,” he whispered hoarsely. He almost dropped his torch as his hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

In all his years of life, knowledge of the extinct dragonlords had remained a mystery to him. He had searched for decades, digging into ancient ruins and burrowing into long-lost texts, but he had never found more than pieces. They were never enough for him.

And here it was. They were not just wandering individuals, at least not always. They had been a _people_ , with artifacts and a history all their own. All this time, a vast collection of relics belonging to his heritage was right here all along. All hells, he had been _right here_ all those years ago, only a few hallways away, but had passed them right by in his hurry to stop Borden. A wave of nausea hit him as he remembered this very tower collapsing into rubble before his eyes. All of this history, destroyed because of his haste and foolishness. 

Scrubbing furiously at his damp eyes, Merlin called out. “Arthur?”

“What?”

“I’m… I’m going to go check the other room.”

“Weren’t you the one all worried about traps?”

Merlin sniffed, already heading for the door. “I’ll be careful.” He ducked out the door, just determined to be alone before Arthur saw him in this state.

He entered the adjacent room breathing heavily. Flashing the torch around quickly revealed that this room, laid out perpendicular to the other, was a repository of scrolls and tomes, a great library. 

Merlin shot a glance over his shoulder. The light of Arthur’s torch still bobbed about in the other room, getting further away it looked like. 

In a moment of reckless abandon, Merlin slid his torch into an empty sconce and left it, summoning a small flame into his hand instead. Then he plunged into the long rows of shelves.

Not even caring where he started, Merlin released his flame, allowing it to hover in the air above him, and pulled a leather-bound book from the shelf. It was almost as large as his torso. Dropping to his knees, he opened it with has much care as he could muster. The thick, dusty pages were covered in large, curling scrawl that he could hardly make out. The book made up for that with the magnificent illustrations, vibrant in color even aged and in poor lighting. His fingers ran reverently over the image of a fiery orange dragon poised between take-off and flight. The banner beneath the picture named it _Arcathios. Arcathios,_ the accompanying words said, _Great Dragon of the Western Isle, sire of Kerato, Dakana, and Sidero of the Western Isle._ A genealogy of dragons. Merlin shut the book, desperate to know what else was stored here. 

In the few minutes he had, Merlin pulled down what felt like an innumerable amount of books, but at the same time, never enough. He hardly had time to absorb a few sentences before he felt compelled to move on, to know _more_ even as he was barely processing the pieces he caught. Dragons mate for life. Dragonlords had longer lifespans than normal men. The arrival of the Romans proved that Dragonlords were not only native to Albion. White dragons are rare, their births usually signaling a time of great change or the fulfillment of prophecy. 

Merlin pulled yet another book from the shelf, a smaller one, clutching it close. 

He couldn’t let this tower fall, not now, not with all this history here. It wasn’t just for selfish reasons. He _needed_ it. If he was to bring the dragons back, he had to know as much as he could. He needed to come up with a new plan. 

If only he had more time.

“Merlin!”

Merlin’s head whipped around at the faint call. Breath catching and not bothering to debate with himself, he stuffed the book into his pack, snuffed out his magic flame, and made his way back toward his master. 

Fortunately for him, Arthur had not left the great armory. He still stood amongst the racks of armor, peering around in awe. He nodded to Merlin as he approached.

“Good. You were gone long enough, I wondered if you’d fallen into a vat of hot tar or something. What did you find?”

“Uh, it was a library. A record room or something.” He clutched his pack just a little closer to himself.

Rather than take the opportunity to tease his stuttering, Arthur stayed silent. His attention was fixed on the dragon statue and the carved walls, brow creased in thought. Merlin was pulled from his own thoughts for a moment. “Sire?” he asked.

“It’s all about dragonlords, isn’t it?” Arthur asked distantly. He didn’t seem to expect an answer. “The walls, the statue, the markers on the weaponry. Ashkenar was either a dragonlord or else had a bit of an obsession with them.”

Merlin blinked. “Yes… Yes, I guess that’s true.” He hadn’t even thought about it.

Arthur’s frown deepened. He seemed almost melancholy. “You know, after that business with the dragon, I never gave another thought to dragonlords. They were just another kind of magic my father had purged from the world. Seeing this now… it seems like so much more, doesn’t it? These walls, these weapons, those books in the other room, it’s like a civilization fell, not just a type of magic user.”

Merlin stared. His addled thoughts grew clearer. “Of course it seems like that,” he said sharply. “No man exists in a void, Arthur. Dragonlords, druids, even petty magic users, they all had their own cultures and history. Just because they carved it on a wall and forged it into swords doesn’t make them any more or less than the others.”

His mouth clacked shut as Arthur turned to look at him perplexedly. “It’s just the reality,” he mumbled, turning away.

Arthur didn’t make a rebuttal. He turned away instead, and drew out a blade from one of the nearby weapon stocks. It was a beautiful thing, pale and thin, with the spiraling dragon badge on its pommel like many of the others. Merlin almost missed his faint whisper. “It’s… almost a shame, isn’t it?”

The muffled sound of voices approaching broke their quiet reverie. Torchlight flickered down the hallway from which they had come.

“Be careful,” Arthur shouted as he put the sword away. “There’s a pressure plate outside these doors.

In a waft of light and smoke, the other three knights joined them. They also took a moment to gape at the great collection and the carven walls. “This is incredible,” Percival uttered.

“Did you find the egg?” asked Arthur.

Elyan answered him. “No. What we found was a room almost overflowing with treasure. I’ve never seen so much gold in my life.”

Arthur frowned. “None of you touched anything, did you?”

“‘Course not,” said Gwaine, who’d begun to wander about, eyes devouring the racks of swords, daggers, halberds, and spears. “It was tempting, but no, we kept our hands to ourselves while we were searching for the egg.”

“And you didn’t see anything in that library, Merlin?”

“No, nothing.” He hadn’t looked, but he already knew where the egg was.

“It must be on a higher floor then.” After a moment of thought, Arthur continued. “We’ll head back to camp for now. I don’t fancy spending a night in a dusty tomb if it can be helped. We’ll continue the search in the morning.”

Merlin gripped his torch tightly, eyes closing in a moment of sheer relief. He needed all the time he could get to think up a new plan of action, one that would allow him to save both Aithusa and this treasure trove of knowledge. 

The knights began filing out, Merlin at the rear. He paused for just a moment, staring around at the great space. The stone dragon loomed large behind him, terrifying and magnificent all at once. On impulse, he reached out to a nearby suit of armor hung on a dummy. With a quick twist of his fingers, the cloak clasp at its left shoulder came loose. He pocketed it, and then hurried after the others. 

When they returned to the campsite, Merlin left Arthur and the knights to describe what they had seen within the tomb. He isolated himself in the task of preparing dinner.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to go back inside that tomb, to free Aithusa, to explore the armory and read its carvings, to devour the contents of that library. If he played his cards right, that might be possible. Maybe not today, but he could return later. For now, he needed to focus on his dragon, and how to get him out without destroying the tomb. He flicked quick glances toward Borden, who was slumped with eyes closed against a tree. He couldn’t very well release him now, not as he’d planned. He would bring the tower crashing down, and Merlin could barely stand the thought. 

Well, he would have a few hours. He had worked with less before.

When they made the call for the night watches, Merlin volunteered for the second rotation. As evening faded into full night and the rest of the scattered-about party began to settle in for sleep, sans Leon with the first watch, Merlin remained awake in his bedroll, staring up at the stars. 

He tried to plan, truly he did, but as Leon’s steps rustled off toward the far perimeter of camp, and as the fire died out with soft crackles, Merlin’s thoughts couldn’t help but turn to dream-like places rather than practical ones.

He imagined setting Aithusa free from the tomb and from his egg. He imagined keeping the young dragon near, ensuring he was safe and growing strong. Then he imagined more of them, more young hatchlings to keep the white dragon company as they grew. In his mind they were of all colors—black, green, blue, orange, gold—and of all shapes. They grew in his imagination and took to the skies, filling it with the roar of wings and the hum of magic. Against a force like that, no fading stood a chance of stealing magic from the world. He would not have failed as a dragonlord. 

Merlin sighed and rolled onto his side. It was no use growing fanciful if he couldn’t ensure that even the first step became a reality. He couldn’t be swept up in dreams. 

A twig snapped softly behind him. Merlin bolted upright instantly, only for his throat to meet the sharp, jagged edge of a stone, as pointed and deadly as any dagger.

“You should have watched your back a bit better,” hissed the rough voice of Borden in his ear. “I’m afraid our deal’s off, Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I have returned! Sorry about the longer break between chapters this time; unfortunately, I have been...so stuck on the chapter I'm currently writing. I try to write a ways ahead of the chapters I'm posting, helps me focus to have content coming out without having to rush to get the next one up, but I would like to maintain that head start. Until I finally break through this wall, I might slow down to biweekly updates. Or I could have a breakthrough tomorrow and we'll be back to the usual, I dunno. 
> 
> Either way, I'll see you all next time ;)


	7. A Measure of Trust

“Try to yell for help or escape, I’ll open your throat here and now,” Borden snarled into Merlin’s ear, furious desperation shaking his voice. The sharp edge of the dagger-like stone pressed in a little harder. “Now give me the triskelion, boy.”

Merlin cursed himself for his lack of attentiveness, even as his lip curled. What a bother. Borden’s threat didn’t exactly inspire fear in him, but Merlin would never say that having his throat slit with a jagged piece of rock was a pleasant prospect. Aside from that, while temporary death wasn’t much of an issue for Merlin himself, it was one of the worst ways he could think of for Arthur and the knights to find out about his magic. He would rather avoid that if at all possible. “What are you doing?” he whispered, trying to project fear in his voice. “I said I would free you on my watch.”

“You expect me to believe that? I could smell your deceit from the moment you first came to me. As if  _ anyone  _ would be willing to share such a treasure as a dragon’s egg. No doubt you would have just taken it for yourself in the night and left me to the dogs. Now give me the triskelion!”

“I don’t have it anymore,” Merlin lied, feigning a tremble in his voice even while letting his magic well up within him. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake he had earlier. Just a nudge of magic would send Borden off to sleep, and no one need be any the wiser. Leon was still off at the opposite end of the camp. Merlin felt the spark as he began the spell.

“What the hell?!”

_ Oh, g _ _ od  _ damn  _ it! _

Apparently, both Merlin and Borden had failed to take into account that one of the knights sleeping out of view on the other side of the clearing could have gotten up to heed the call of nature. A sleep-mussed Gwaine came crashing back in from the underbrush, his sword singing from its sheath and his wide eyes fixed on them. Worse still, his shout had thoroughly roused everyone else from their sleep. They all jolted to their feet the moment they took in the sight of the unbound thief holding one of their own at knifepoint.

_ If they weren’t all watching right now, I’d kill that damn thief myself. _

“Let him go!” Gwaine snarled, sword poised and stance ready to attack.

Borden leapt to his feet, dragging Merlin up with him. The edge of the stone bit in too far, and a ribbon of red began to snake its way down toward Merlin’s collarbone. “Not a step closer,” Borden shouted, “or the servant dies!”

A chorus of ringing steel went up across the clearing.

“You stupid fool,” Merlin hissed, for Borden’s ears only.

“Let him go,” Arthur said, voice cool and cutting as his blade, his gaze flicking between Borden’s face and the blood running down Merlin’s neck. “Let him go, and no one need come to harm here.” 

“I’m sure,” Borden said with a sneer. With slow, biting pronunciation, he said, “I. Want. The triskelion. I’ve spent more than half my life searching for it. By all rights, that dragon belongs to me!” Spittle flew, flecking Merlin on the cheek as Borden’s maddened desire grew. “And my patience is running out. Now drop your swords. I won’t ask again!”

Merlin, who had been searching for an opportunity and means of getting Borden off his back without putting his magic on display for all to see, went suddenly rigid as his right arm was violently yanked backwards in a way it most definitely wasn’t meant to go, and he heard a vicious snap from the joint. Merlin was well-used to pain by now, and so had to consciously allow himself to let out a ragged shout as his shoulder was dislocated.

As the knights bellowed in anger, Merlin slumped, relieving the pain a little, and more importantly covering up the fierce scowl he couldn’t prevent. Reams of curses flooded his thoughts. Could  _ nothing  _ go right on this expedition? And to think, it had gone so smoothly at the beginning, only for things to start falling apart from the moment they set out. His act was so flimsy most everyone was seeing through it, he’d lacked control of his magic and so got his scapegoat captured, the situation with the tomb was far more delicate than he had known, and now he had to play helpless against a thief whose obsession he had underestimated, all because he had allowed himself to be distracted. 

_ Maybe _ , he thought for what felt like the millionth time that day,  _ this is still salvageable. Borden’s not going to stand down, he’s desperate. But maybe if he could “escape”, I could-- _

Any hatchling schemes on Merlin’s part, viable or not, were abruptly cut off by the unmistakable sound of steel punching through flesh and a wrenching gasp. Merlin felt the chill of a blade just sliding past him on the left. His head whipped around.

Borden’s eyes were already going dark. The bloodstained stone slid from his grasp as the thief first slumped, and then collapsed bonelessly to the forest floor. Leon, whom they had completely forgotten about, stood in his place, sword bathed in red.

Merlin stayed hunched, staring blankly at the dead thief at his feet. Leon’s large hand landed on his uninjured shoulder. “Are you alright, Merlin?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Merlin said with a defeated croak. “Check back in the morning.”

* * *

The morning came, swift and unstoppable, and Merlin was not alright. 

Arthur and the knights were putting his dour mood down to his close call the night before, and the right arm that was now swathed closely to his chest in a makeshift sling. They let him off his morning duties, Percival taking over the preparation of breakfast and Elyan managing the scattering of the campfire, which allowed Merlin to sit in a heavy silence on a nearby stump. Gwaine and Leon had tended to the disposal of Borden’s corpse. 

Merlin could care less about his throbbing arm, or about the slice on his neck, also wrapped in a thin bandage. He sat slumped, but every nerve in his body was screaming with concealed alarm, nearing panic. He’d really gone out of the frying pan and straight into the fire, hadn’t he? His scapegoat was gone, nothing else was standing between the knights and Aithusa, and Merlin was still drawing a blank on a plan to save both the egg and the tomb. 

The situation had spun out of his control, and there were few things he hated more than losing control.

“We’re heading out, Merlin.”

Merlin’s head whipped around to face Arthur. The rest of the group were assembled again and busy buckling on sword belts. Gwaine was testing the sharpness of his own blade. He gave a pleased smirk at the razor edge. Merlin stifled the shiver that tried to creep down his spine.

“I’m sure you can manage sitting here for a little while without running into more trouble?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shot to his feet. “I’m not staying here.”

Arthur waved him off. “You’re not going to be much use with one arm. Besides, I think six trained warriors are more than enough to deal with an  _ egg _ .” 

“I’m coming!” Merlin snapped. At this point he’d run out of patience for carefully parsing words, none of which seemed to have much effect anyway. Arthur already saw that he was acting off; let him put it down to fear or bad memories or what-have-you. All Merlin wanted in the moment was to save his dragon, and maybe even the history of his people.

Arthur blinked, that veiled concern he’d shown two days ago returning in his expression, but he said nothing. “Suit yourself, then. Let’s go,” he called, heading back toward the tomb. His knights and his servant followed him. 

Although it was a bright and sunny morning when they returned to the tomb, it was just as silent and eerie inside as it had been the night before. Again, Merlin felt the insistent tug calling him upward. This time, though, he planned to answer it. 

Instead of taking the forward or right paths, Arthur motioned them to the left. Around a turn, Merlin beheld the stairway leading up to a familiar arched door barred with iron. At the peak of the door was set the triple spiral lock, the indent a perfect match for the triskelion.

“Merlin.” Arthur was holding out his hand.

With every instinct in him howling for him to stop, Merlin pulled the triskelion from his pack and handed it over. “The door is probably trapped,” he said. He wondered if the others could detect the hollow tone he heard in his own voice. “Be careful.”

Arthur only nodded, ascending the steps.

What was Merlin going to do? What  _ could  _ he do? No idea he could conceive of gave him a guaranteed path forward. If the tower had been empty aside from Aithusa, he might have been able to manage this with relative ease, but the treasure trove of dragonlord history they had discovered now hung in the balance as well. He couldn’t just whisk Aithusa away without gambling on the tower collapsing, but he couldn’t let the others get to the egg either, for Aithusa’s sake and their own. He might be able to use magic to divert them for a time, maybe even enough to get them to return to Camelot, but it wouldn’t work forever. They still knew the tower’s location. Only deep memory erasure or alteration would take that knowledge from them, and that was a kind of magic Merlin had long ago resolved never to practice. Even the strong compulsion it would take to drive them away from this place temporarily felt wrong. They were his oldest friends, his responsibility, and to manipulate them like that, like puppets on strings...

Merlin shut his eyes tight as a too-familiar voice, filled with bitter disdain, screamed in his head.  _ All your experience and all your training, and yet here you are, without a single solution! What use are you to anyone?! _

The grind of old locks caught his attention. Arthur was retreating rapidly down the stairs. A hissing sound trailed on the heels of the door as it creaked slowly open.

“Get back!” Arthur called as a thick white cloud began to billow down toward them. At his order they all began to draw back, and with a rush of impulse born of desperation, Merlin acted. 

As the tendrils of smoke curled a little too closely, Merlin flared his magic in a powerful blast. With faint sighs and grunts, his friends’ eyes fluttered closed and they slumped to the ground. Merlin had to catch Elyan as he tipped backward. In the span of five seconds, the group of elite knights were dozing peacefully on the floor of the corridor, leaving Merlin alone.

Except for Lancelot.

Merlin could feel his friend’s shocked gaze boring into him as he laid Elyan carefully on the ground, silently apologizing. It still felt wrong to yank their consciousness away so cavalierly, but it was no worse than the kinds of things he'd done to them when he was young and careless. It wasn't that bad. 

Lancelot was still staring. “Merlin?” he asked. The utter confusion he could hear in Lancelot’s voice made Merlin want to turn his head in shame. He did not, meeting Lancelot’s wide-eyed gaze squarely. “What did you just--” 

“Lancelot, I need your help.” The words tasted bitter as sour wine on his tongue. He shouldn’t have to ask for help. This was his burden, his mission. What right did he have to put any of its weight on anyone else?

Lancelot blinked, still looking baffled, but Merlin could see the trust in his eyes as well. “What’s going on?”

“We cannot let that egg be destroyed.”

“Whyever not? Did not a dragon nearly destroy Camelot once?”

“Yes, he did,” Merlin said. “And he was wrong to do so. But that was his crime, and his alone.” Merlin glanced down at the sprawled knights. He didn’t know how long his spell would last, nor what his plan was. He was flying blind, and in that dire situation he couldn’t afford to waste time. He strode forward, passing a still stunned Lancelot and heading up the stairs. “We don’t have much time. I’ll explain as we walk.”

It took a few moments before footsteps began chasing him. “Merlin, talk to me.” Lancelot’s words echoed ahead of them in the winding stairwell. “You’ve been agitated this entire journey, and just now… I saw you. You looked like someone was holding a sword to your throat. Why mustn’t we destroy the egg?”

Merlin stopped on the stairs. Given a few seconds to breathe, mind racing as fast as it could, he had been able to reevaluate at least one thing. This journey had proved something very clearly: his ability to act and to deceive was compromised here. He knew he could play a role excellently, but the vast majority of that experience came from years of acting among strangers, people that truly didn’t know anything about him. He couldn’t do that here. His emotional attachment and the sheer importance of what he had to do meant he couldn’t hide everything. Nor, maybe, should he. As much as he hated it, if he couldn’t fulfill his duties adequately on his own, then he needed to accept that he needed help. He thought about Gaius, waiting back in Camelot with an expectation of answers. He thought about Lancelot, waiting silently for him to speak.

Gaius and Lancelot. The logical allies. They would want answers. They needed them.

Merlin sighed, then squared his shoulders. He would give them answers, but he didn’t need to give them all.

He turned to face his friend. “Lancelot, do you know what dragonlords are?”

Lancelot shook his head. 

“They’re… well, they  _ were _ men that had the ability to bond with and command dragons. The dragonlords of Albion were all but wiped out by Uther’s Purge.” They began to trek back up the stairs again. As they went, Merlin trailed his good hand along the wall, the longing sadness for all that he’d never gotten the chance to know returning. “I’m the last one left.”

Realization dawned on Lancelot’s face. He was quick on the uptake. “So then, the egg is--”

“My responsibility, yes.”

“You said it mustn’t be destroyed, so you’re not here to kill it,” Lancelot said. “Dragons are not evil, then?”

“They have as much capacity for good or evil as men do. They’re thinking and feeling creatures. This one is only a baby, and could be the last of his kind. I cannot allow him to be harmed.”

He heard Lancelot stop again. When he spoke, there was a great hesitance in his words. “So, to free this dragon… we would have to go behind Arthur’s back?”

Merlin turned back, head cocked to the side. “Of course. That’s how I always operate when magic’s involved.”

There was something in Lancelot’s expression that caused a nervous twist in Merlin’s stomach. “Of course, I know that,” the knight said. “But that’s for when we’re defending Arthur and Camelot. This is something else.”

Merlin blinked, feeling his already twisted stomach drop toward his toes. Now he saw clearly. Lancelot was torn. He was a knight now, the most noble Merlin had ever known, and what Merlin was planning directly contradicted the loyalty he had sworn to his king.

“Damn,” he whispered. He turned away, shoulders hunching.

The echoes caught the curse, and Lancelot started forward. “Merlin,” he said earnestly, hesitating for a moment. “Is it possible that you could explain this to Arthur? Tell him that the dragon isn’t evil?”

Merlin was shaking his head before the question was even finished. “He would never listen to me, not about this. Even if he did, how would I explain how I knew that? He thinks that I’m afraid of dragons, like Leon is, like anyone else would be after what Kilgharrah did.”

He caught the flash of curiosity from Lancelot at the unfamiliar name, but he didn’t latch onto it. Instead, he exhaled, as if preparing himself, before he drew a little closer. “Merlin,” he said again, softly, almost pleadingly. “I’ve spoken to you before, and it’s been some time, but… Will you not think of telling Arthur the truth? The whole truth?”

Merlin could have recoiled against the words ‘the  _ whole _ truth,' but he restrained himself. After all, Lancelot was thinking of a much smaller  _ whole _ than what it truly was.

Lancelot continued. “I know why you had to hide while Uther was king. You had every reason to fear for your life and keep your true self a secret. But you know Arthur’s a different man.”

“A different man, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be furious. Besides, I already said I can’t risk it while Agravaine’s around.”

“You underestimate the support you’d have. I know that it probably isn’t going to be easy, with Agravaine or Arthur, but you are his friend, as are we. I would stand behind you, and if they knew the truth, I have no doubt many of the others would as well, even if it took time.” A firm hand was laid on Merlin’s good shoulder. “You wouldn’t be alone, Merlin.”

Merlin pulled back. Lancelot took a swift step backward in turn. The sudden gap between them had the same emotional punctuation as if Merlin had slammed a door in his face. “No,” Merlin said flatly. “I can’t risk that. Not now. This isn’t the right time.” He refused to break Lancelot’s gaze, no matter how much he wanted to. There was hurt in those brown eyes. Worse, Merlin could tell that it wasn’t hurt on Lancelot’s behalf; it was for Merlin, mixed with concern, and he knew that Lancelot was trying to glean some understanding of what was going on. 

“Merlin,” he said slowly, “This isn’t just about this dragon situation, is it? You’ve been different for some time now.”

Merlin was glad for the dimness of the stairwell that shadowed his face. It filled in the gaps where his own mask was cracked. He sighed, knowing there was no escaping this. “Yes. I  _ have _ to stay secret. I have to save this dragon, and there are still so many things I have to do.” He blinked rapidly. The weight of his mission, all of the things he had to change, the delicate balance he had to walk, the precariousness of it all came screaming toward him, but he shoved it away, hiding it in the back of his mind where he always put it. “I can’t explain now. When we return to Camelot, though, you’ll have answers. Gaius, too. He’s seen, just like you have.” Merlin straightened up. He needed control.  _ Find your center, and hold to it.  _ “I’m sorry I tried to drag you into this, Lancelot. You’re a knight, and your first loyalty is to Arthur. I need to respect that, and I won’t ask you to go against it. Just… please keep it secret. That’s all I ask.” He turned back to continue up the stairs. “You’d better hurry back. I don’t know when the others will wake up,” he said.

He made it seven steps.

“Merlin.”

Merlin paused, before turning back one last time. Lancelot slowly ascended after him. The expression on his face was still torn, but it was overruled by what Merlin saw in his eyes: trust. 

“Alright then, Merlin,” he said as he drew level. “I don’t understand yet, but I trust you. We’ll find a way to save the egg.”

Merlin felt his throat close and his chest ache. “Thank you,” he whispered.

They ascended the rest of the stairs in silence, but the quiet was no longer as oppressive as it had been. Before, the deadness in the air had seemed to fill with all of Merlin’s fears for Aithusa and the tomb, with the stifling realization that he didn’t know what to do. With Lancelot at his back, he didn’t feel quite so trapped anymore. 

His head hung lower. He really was weak.

The static dimness slowly gave way before a distant beam of sunlight. Their pace quickened, the echo of their footsteps racing ahead toward the light.

Merlin emerged into the topmost chamber first. The memory of it, fuzzy at the edges and distant, returned in sharp relief: the carved pillars, the square windows that let in shafts of morning light, and at the very center a small plinth. Aithusa’s egg sat upon it, the pearly blue shell gleaming like a modest but infinitely precious jewel. 

He heard Lancelot inhale behind him. Slowly they approached the plinth and stood before it. Merlin wanted nothing more than to reach out and take it, but he couldn’t. Leaving aside the vaults of treasure, Arthur and the knights were unconscious downstairs.

“Can you not just take the egg?” Lancelot asked, breaking the silence, his voice still hesitant. He was speaking of directly defying his king’s mission and orders, after all. “We could say that it isn’t actually here, that the legends were wrong.”

Merlin shook his head. “The tomb is a trap,” he said. “If I try to take the egg, the whole place will come crashing down. I can’t allow that either. There’s an entire history of dragonlords stored here. I can’t let that be destroyed.”

“Do you think we could replace it with something?” Lancelot asked, breaking the silence. “Find something of equal size and weight and switch them?”

“I don’t think so,” Merlin said. He’d seen enough movies to know that wasn’t a gamble worth betting on. “I think Ashkenar would have thought of that.”

“What if you could hide it?” Lancelot tried. Torn he might be, but he was certainly an active contributor now that he’d made a decision. “Can you turn objects invisible?”

Merlin thought about that one. “Perhaps. It’s still risky, though. It might be invisible, but it could still be touched. If someone tries to check the plinth, they could feel it, or knock it over.”

Lancelot ran a gloved hand through his hair and stared at the egg as if it was a puzzle to be solved. Merlin began to circle the plinth. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind had already wrung dry every possibility that had occurred to him, and he was growing more and more conscious of every second that ticked by. His Mind’s Eye flickered open and shut as he watched for the knights’ waking. Who knew how much time they had.

Frustration boiled within him. A part of him longed for the simplicity of how this day had originally gone. How easy it had been, to just whisk Aithusa away, leaving nothing behind but a pile of rubble and a dead thief. Lancelot started as Merlin let out a furious snarl, pacing madly with his left hand raking through his dark hair. “Useless! I can’t think of anything, and it’s right here!” All his abilities, and he couldn’t come up with a solution for how to move the egg without triggering the trap. 

At least, none within reason.

Lancelot sighed, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “Not an easy puzzle Ashkenar has made. Two treasures. One that cannot be moved without destroying the other, and one that is too big to move at all.”

Merlin ground to a halt, face gone blank. “Repeat that.”

“What?”

“What you just said, Lancelot, repeat it!”

“Not an easy puzzle he’s made. Two treasures, one that cannot be moved without destroying the other, and one that is too big to move at all.”

Merlin huffed, one hand gripping his hair. Of course. How could he have been so stupid? His lateral thinking had definitely grown dull. 

“Do you have an idea?” Lancelot asked, but Merlin didn’t reply. A plan  _ had _ begun to stitch together in his head. He grimaced. It would be difficult, incredibly taxing, and worst of all, he would have to be willing to trust Aithusa to Lancelot, if only for a short time.

Could he do it? He had told himself on the journey that Aithusa had to be his top priority. No matter how much he wanted the store of dragonlord knowledge hidden here, did he have any right to put the young dragon at risk.

_ I can’t fail him again. _

Yet there was so much possibility. He didn't just want to save Aithusa. He wanted to save dragonkind. How might this knowledge help him to do that, to bring back what Uther had destroyed?

His resolve hardened. He wouldn’t fail. He  _ wouldn’t _ .

“Yes, I have a plan,” he said, looking up to Lancelot. Guilt assaulted him for what he was about to ask. “It will be chancy, but I think I can do it. If… If you’re willing to lie to Arthur.”

He saw Lancelot swallow, the conflict returning to him. Merlin held his breath. He knew it was no small thing to ask. Lancelot had all but banished himself from Camelot the first time because he couldn’t lie about slaying the griffin. Asking him of it now that he was a true knight was many times worse. If Lancelot said no, though, Merlin had nothing. 

Inhaling deeply, Lancelot drew himself up. “I’ll do it,” he said.

Relief and gratitude came with fear. He nodded his thanks and began to explain his plan, or at least what he could. Now it was even more imperative that this work. Now on top of Aithusa and the tomb, he held Lancelot’s trust in balance too. He didn’t plan on letting any of them down. 


	8. Playing with Fire

Lancelot waited at the base of the stairs. The dead silence of the tomb wasn't helping his nerves.

A faint groan came from the sleeping group, and they had already begun to shuffle with wakefulness. Lancelot's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He could only hope he would be up to the task. The part of him that was utterly dedicated to the ideals of knighthood quailed at the thought of lying to Arthur and his friends, but it could not overcome his faith in the first friend he'd had in Camelot.

_ What Merlin does, he does for good. I have to trust him. I can't let him down. _

Percival was the first among them to sit up, eyelids heavy and large fingers massaging his temples. The others weren't too far behind him, staggering back to consciousness with the vigor of career drunks. Lancelot sucked in a breath. He could only hope his deception wouldn't show plainly on his face. It was hard enough maintaining the stoic act when his king turned to him in confusion.

"Lancelot?" Arthur asked, words still a little slurred. "What on earth happened?"

_ Just say what Merlin told you. You need to buy him time. _

"The door was trapped," he said out loud. "Some kind of sleeping smoke. Merlin and I managed to avoid it, but it seems like it got to everyone else."

"Seems like," Elyan muttered.

"How long have we been out?" Leon asked, shaking the floor's dust from his curly hair.

"Not long. Quarter of an hour, maybe. I told Merlin to go back to camp. With his injury, he's not in the best condition to avoid more traps like that."

Arthur raised an incredulous eyebrow. "And he listened to you?"

Lancelot's heart stuttered a bit, but he managed to fumble out a response. "Well, yes. He's stubborn, of course, and it took some persuading, but he's not incapable of seeing reason."

Arthur snorted as the group slowly clambered to their feet, rubbing aching heads and rolling stiff joints. "Reason is not something I typically associate with Merlin, but as long as he is out of the way, all for the good. We should go on."

"Er, do you think that best, sire? We don't know if there might be side effects from the smoke. Perhaps we should head back to camp and regroup?" Lancelot clapped his mouth shut when he realized what a poor idea that was. After all, Merlin wasn't actually there. He needed more time, though. He hadn't gotten the signal from Merlin yet.

Luckily or unluckily—only time would tell—Arthur shook his head. "We have to press on. I want this business done with. I don't want to be gone from Camelot for too long. We'll just have to be even more wary."

Lancelot swallowed. How did Merlin do this nearly every day? Sure, he had shared Merlin's secret for some time now, but he had never had to actively deceive like he was now. He couldn't tell if he admired his friend's skill, or if he pitied him the trial.

Before he could think of some other way he might divert the others, Arthur waved them forward. "Come on."

Lancelot bit back a panicked shout of 'wait!' He remembered what Merlin had said to him before they had put their plan into action.

_ "If stopping them will make you seem desperate or suspicious, don't. I won't ask you to risk your involvement. Buy me what time you can. I'll just have to take care of the rest." _

Lancelot's fists clenched. He might be no good at this, but he still had to do what he could. He had committed to helping Merlin; he had to give his full effort to it. He hurried after as the knights began to climb the stairs. "I haven't checked the stairs yet. There could be more traps, so we should move slowly."

Arthur paused for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Keep your eyes open, men, and move cautiously."

Lancelot stuck close to the king as they ascended. He could only hope the wary pace would be enough.

_ Whatever it is you're doing, Merlin, please hurry. _

* * *

With a rush of dark mist and displaced air, Merlin stepped from the topmost chamber of Ashkenar's tomb into the pitch blackness of the great caverns beneath Camelot.

The moment he was free of the transportation's pull, he collapsed bodily to hands and knees. Merlin struggled to catch a breath that wasn't a strangled gasp as his lungs spasmed. His limbs were trembling madly, flashes of fever heat and ice cold washed over him like waves, and the world was tilting and spinning sickeningly around him. Barely able to make out his surroundings, it felt even more like he was disconnected from the proper orientation of the world.

_ D-Damn. It's even worse than I thought it would be. _

He knew where the problem stemmed from. He had hoped he would be able to withstand the side effects as he was despite the distance he'd traveled, but he'd been too optimistic. He was lucky he hadn't fainted.

Gritting his teeth in defeat, Merlin reached within himself to the magical shields that kept his power wrapped up tight. He could feel his magic, straining unbearably against its bonds, being choked by them. With a rough exhale and great reluctance, he released some of those restraints. Instantly his body was flooded with new strength, his trembling stopped, and the world righted itself.

He got to his feet, trying not to think of that unnerving sensation that was creeping over him, that something had become loose and ill-attached within him. He couldn't afford to waste time. There was no guaranteed amount of time that Lancelot would be able to stall, and he wanted to limit his friend's involvement as much as possible.

Holding up a hand, Merlin conjured a bright light that chased the darkness to the farthest corner of the cave. He stood on the platform where he'd always used to stand, facing the rocky outcrop where the chained Kilgharrah had often perched in the old days when Merlin had come seeking advice. With the clock running, it would have to do.

Merlin stepped to the edge, shifting into a planted stance and raising his arms above his head. His right arm pulsed with pain when he pulled it from its sling, but he couldn't heed that right now. The words of command floated in his mind, but that was all. With several of his self-made bonds broken and his power coursing like a storming river through his veins, he had no need to speak them. Twisting outstretched fingers into sudden fists, Merlin brought his arms rushing down, as if to slam his fists against the stony floor. The caverns echoed with the shrieks of cracking and splintering stone as the peak of Kilgharrah's outcrop broke apart, turned into a pile of crumbling rubble. Merlin rose back to his feet, and then, sweeping his arms into a circling arc, he brought them forward again even as he poured his force into a powerful push. The rubble was blasted away from the outcrop, the clattering of pebbles and stones sounding like a fierce hailstorm. Left behind was a perfectly smooth shelf of rock, like the flat top of a mesa.

With a brief blast of smoke and wind, Merlin disappeared from the platform and reappeared on the reshaped outcrop. His magic was humming within him, not wanting to stop, wanting to do more.

_ Have to do this quickly. Have to get back to Lancelot, and put myself back together before I won't want to. _

Merlin began to walk, pacing the perimeter of the roughly circular outcrop. He slipped his throbbing right arm back into its sling, but he stretched out his left hand, palm facing down, as he trekked his circle. This time he would have to speak the words. This spell was too powerful and complex to be done wordlessly with the magic he could currently command, and he would not allow himself to release more.

_ "Yfel undergietan hêore bâm port," _ he commanded.  _ "Sê fyrmest su of forma orgilde twêgen nu. Sîn brôðor scêad lêasspellm æst scylf Ashkenar." _ As the words flowed, a tracery of symbols began to burn themselves into the rock at his feet, following the path of his outstretched hand as Merlin slowly made the circle. " _ Yfel geondgêotan mîn rîceter oninnan and ðe hring!" _

He made the circle once and kept going, repeating the spell over and over. It would have to be strong, to work over such a distance and to transport large objects. As he made his rotations, the symbols began to glow, at first with only a faint gleam, but growing brighter with every complete circle he made. Only when the glow had grown to a brilliant golden luminescence that sparkled to the very edges of the cavern did Merlin halt.  _ "Yfel seolh," _ he said, locking the spell. The shining symbols pulsed once before fading back into dull dormancy.

Merlin breathed out. Step one complete. He had one side of a door ready and waiting. Now he had to open it on the other side.

Time to go back.

* * *

Lancelot did what he could to slow the others down on the stairs. There were a few small side chambers along the stairwell, holding a few especially distinguished artifacts, but those could only stall the group for so long. All too soon, he spotted the break in the dimness ahead of them.

_ Merlin, where are you? _

_ "I'm here." _

If Lancelot had been a less steady sort of person, he might have sent himself tumbling back down the stairs in shock. As it was, he froze very obviously, causing Gwaine to bump into him from behind.

"You alright there, Lance?" he asked.

Lancelot nodded mindlessly. "Just-- just thought I saw something. It's nothing."

_ "Merlin, what on earth is this?!" _ he thought back.

_ "Mindspeak. I told you. The druids use it all the time." _

_ "Right, yes you did mention that. I suppose I didn't expect it to be so…" _

_ "Shocking? Sorry about that." _

_ "Never mind. We're almost to the top of the tower. Are you—" _

_ "I'm setting up downstairs. For now you can just follow Arthur. I'll let you know when I need you to act." _

Lancelot resisted nodding in reply. His eyes fixed ahead on Arthur's back. Things seemed to be working out so far. He could only hope they stayed that way.

They emerged back into the topmost chamber. The egg remained on its plinth, looking painfully exposed in the otherwise empty space.

The sharp ring of withdrawn steel cut through the air. Arthur stepped forward.

_ "Merlin..." _

_ "Hold him back. Now, Lancelot!" _

Without hesitation, Lancelot darted forward. "Arthur, wait!" he cried, grabbing hold of the king's elbow.

Much like with the mindspeak, Merlin had told him of what he planned to do, but Lancelot hadn't anticipated what it would be like in reality. He and Arthur reared back as a giant column of fire, blinding white and flecked with blue, exploded up from the floor out of nowhere, roaring and twisting like a mad beast. The flames rose so high they licked the ceiling, and the wave of heat that burst out hit them like the front line of a cavalry charge.

Gloved hands grabbed them by the hoods of their chainmail and pulled them back further. "My god," Lancelot heard Leon say in a fearful whisper.

For a moment, Lancelot almost forgot his part. He was fixated on the great pillar of flames even as it died back down toward the floor. Merlin had done that.

When he really thought about it, Lancelot actually hadn't seen much of Merlin's magic. There was the griffin incident, where Merlin had enchanted his lance and allowed him to slay the creature. He'd once used his magic to drop a gate to stop a wilddeoren from pursuing them, and then a little to fight when they had retaken Camelot from Morgana and her immortal army. Other than that, Lancelot had only seen him using it for protection charms or speeding up the occasional chore; nothing close to the display he'd just witnessed.

He'd once told Merlin that, in Lancelot's opinion, he was the bravest of them all. He still believed it.  _ Now, I think he might be the strongest of us all as well. _

Lancelot didn't know how he felt about that realization.

He managed to shake himself out of his unsettling musing. "I… I think it's another of the tomb's traps," he said, falling back into the part he'd been assigned.

"Of course!" Arthur spat, shoving his sword back into its sheath.

"That might be a little harder to get past than a bit of sleeping smoke," Gwaine said.

"You think?" replied Percival dryly.

Arthur glared as he took in the situation. The wall of fire had completely died down, leaving behind a ring of scorch marks that completely surrounded the egg's plinth. Lancelot watched as Arthur pulled off one of his gloves, hesitated, and then tossed it toward the stand. They all staggered back even farther as yet another wave of flames went roaring up from the floor. Arthur's glove was turned to ashes within a second.

After a grim moment, Arthur turned back to them. "Leon, Percival, head back to camp and fetch a few crossbows. Perhaps they'll be fast enough to take out the egg from a distance."

The two knights nodded and headed back down the stairs.

"In the meantime," Arthur said, "perhaps we can use something in the tower to help us around this barrier."

Lancelot nodded, even as he thought:  _ You have a little time, Merlin. Make the most of it. _

* * *

The transportation back to the tower wasn't nearly as strenuous as the first one had been. The exhaustion that hit Merlin was still significant, but at least he didn't feel like death warmed over.

He reappeared in the library vault, sweat soaking through his tunic, but he was still standing.

He would concentrate all his effort here. The records here held more value to him than anything else in the tower.

Merlin opened his mind's eye. The knights were awake and heading up the stairs at this very moment. He gritted his teeth on both frustration and abated fear. He'd cut it a little close there.

Reaching out to Lancelot with mindspeak -- and feeling rather bad about startling him so badly -- he made sure they were both ready. The next stage was the most delicate part when it came to timing. Opening a door from one place to another was a significant magical feat, far too complex to have his mind’s eye active and watching the knights at the same time. He would just have to check when he was able, and trust the rest to Lancelot.

Merlin watched, tense as a drawn bowstring, as the knights filed into Aithusa's chamber. As Arthur began to stride forward, drawn sword at the ready, Merlin spoke his command.  _ "Fotia drakous!" _

He watched the others leap away. It would make for a frightening sight, but they were in no danger. This flame had been Merlin's for over a thousand years, and he had as precise and instinctive control of it as he did his own limbs.

He saw the knights splitting up, the sound of Arthur's command garbled and indistinct. The mind's eye was a power based on sight and not so much on sound. It was the opening he had been waiting for. He would have to gamble a bit on no one pulling anything especially reckless, but he judged his odds favorable.

Warily letting his mind’s eye fall shut, Merlin approached the first of the old shelves at the center of the vault and began to circle it, incanting the same spell he'd woven into the cave below Camelot. This time his words were edged with urgency. This spell could not be interrupted before he sealed it, or else he would have to start all over again. But if Arthur or one of the knights put Aithusa in danger, he would have to intervene.

It was almost impossible to imagine this could work forever, but there was a slim chance. If he and Lancelot could frustrate any efforts to reach Aithusa for long enough, perhaps they could gain a reprieve. If the knights retreated, even for a few short hours, then Merlin would have won a victory he never could have hoped for.

He didn't let that flickering hope distract him. That had already gotten him in trouble once on this quest. He turned his attention back to his spellwork, all while speeding up as much as he could. As the transportation circle began to form, Merlin could feel the strain on his magic, even after releasing an extra portion of it. The edges of his vision began to blur, and pain was beginning to drum at his temples, but he didn't stop.

_ "Yfel seolh!" _

The circle pulsed and the light died. The gateway was made.

With a weakness in his limbs that was as much due to disbelieving hope as it was exhaustion, Merlin knelt and placed his hand upon the symbols.

_ Please… _

The symbols flashed like hundreds of small firecrackers, throwing up lingering sparks of light that shot upward before slowing, hovering like fireflies around the ceiling. In the center of the circle, the shelf of old tomes seemed to stutter in and out of existence before, with a last flash of golden brilliance, it vanished.

Merlin gasped, the magical backlash hitting him like a slap in the face, but he was smiling. Opening his mind’s eye and allowing a quick sweep before he shut it again, he took in the wider situation. Most of the knights were outside the tower. Arthur and Lancelot were alone, and neither were approaching the egg. At this moment, it was all clear.

Merlin threw out his hand, magically dragging another shelf toward him, the old wood rumbling across the floor as he pulled it into the circle.

Both hands slammed back down against the gate symbols, and he poured all his urgency and barely restrained elation into the casting. He might just get away with this.

* * *

Lancelot did his best not to seem like he was staring at Arthur. He worked his way around the room, making cursory checks for any means to shut down the "trap," while sending frequent glances back toward the king.

The two of them were alone at the moment. The others had all split off in different directions, trying to find some method that would get them to the egg. Arthur, meanwhile, just stood, his gaze fixed on the object of their mission. There was something in his expression, just barely veiled behind a blank mask that made Lancelot nervous. The whole situation had him at a disadvantage, out of sorts and straddled between two strong points of loyalty.

Deep within him, Lancelot was ashamed to find a small, quiet resentment with Merlin taking shape. Others might laud Lancelot for his faithful adherence to the knight's code and its ideals, but he knew he was no better than any other man; there were just as many dark spots dwelling within him, he was just good at hiding them. That frustration was definitely one. Part of it was entirely selfish. This was never a spot he had wanted to be in, caught between his liege and his friend, even if he had chosen to help Merlin in the end.

The other part came from a much more unsettled place that was infinitely more tangled, and the center of it was Merlin's vehement insistence on secrecy. On the one hand, who was Lancelot to push Merlin into revealing himself? He could never know the kind of fear his friend had lived with all his life, to be condemned to death right from birth. He had already shown extraordinary courage just by living in Camelot, let alone serving in the household of a king that would have executed him on the spot had his secret come out. Why should anyone ask for more?

_ Even so, _ Lancelot's thoughts whispered,  _ does his fear overrule his trust in us? His friendships? I know that Arthur wouldn't harm him. He values Merlin just as much as he does any of us, perhaps even more so. Can Merlin not see that? Or is there something else that holds him back? And if there is… why wouldn't he tell me? _

Once more, Lancelot tilted his head just enough to peer at Arthur from the corner of his eye. The king had not moved. Lancelot was about to return to his feigned search when Arthur's voice broke the still air. "Sir Lancelot, do you think me a good king?"

The knight was caught off guard for a moment. What a strangely timed question. "You have only been king for a few months, sire," he said hesitantly, "but I have believed for years that you had all the makings of a wonderful king. You care for your people, you have a keen sense of justice, and you see the heart of people, not just their outward appearances. You stood up for me and the others, even though most of us were commoners."  _ What is he thinking? _

Arthur continued to stare at the egg as he replied. "Traits befitting a prince, perhaps. Things have begun to seem much more complex since I took the throne."

"Sire?" Lancelot asked, beginning to move slowly around the room, drawing closer to Arthur. Something didn't feel right.

Arthur said nothing at first. For the first time in a while, he took his eyes off the egg and looked around the room instead. "You weren't with us yesterday," he said eventually. "You didn't get the chance to see the sheer wealth of artifacts stored in this place. The treasures here are like nothing I have seen before. The make of the weapons and armor is unique, and the carvings on the wall… they were like a great history book all spread out." He came to an abrupt stop, Lancelot waiting at a respectful distance. If the king trusted him enough to confide his thoughts, he would allow him to say what needed to be said.

Arthur slowly turned, looking Lancelot in the eye. "The dragonlords were a people, and my father wiped them out."

Lancelot swallowed.

Arthur's gaze dropped. "I've always been told magic was evil, and I can't say I've seen much evidence to the contrary. But they've always been lone criminals, individuals that have wanted to hurt Camelot. I've never heard of what crimes the dragonlords as a people committed. I've even met one. Balinor was angry and antisocial, but I don't believe he was an evil man." Raising an arm, he gestured toward the egg, isolated and exposed in the center of the chamber. "And yet they're all gone. This tower and that egg is all that's left of them."

Lancelot felt his heart almost trip on a beat. Here it was, the proof that Arthur was not like his father. Even sheltered within Camelot his whole life, exposed to only fear and hatred of magic, he could sense that the matter was not only black and white. He took a cautious step forward. If he could just say the right thing, perhaps he could help both Arthur and Merlin.

"Sire," he said, "I've traveled far in my years, and seen many different walks of life. One thing I've learned for sure is that the world is… well, complicated." He shrugged an apologetic shoulder at Arthur's dry look. "For lack of a more descriptive term. But it's taught me to think in the moment. You are our king, and of course you must be forward thinking to guide us toward the best future, but sometimes patterns and general beliefs aren't always what they seem, or can't always be applied to every situation. Sometimes all we can do is look at the situation at hand, and trust ourselves to make the right judgment in the moment."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, the blond strands falling into his eyes. His face was turned away from Lancelot. "A king must be decisive. My father said I was ready, but I'm not sure if I believe him."

"If your own father expressed his belief in you, why would you doubt it?"

Lancelot almost didn't catch the soft reply. "Because it was my fault he died."

Lancelot frowned. He wasn't surprised. Merlin and Gwen had both mentioned the guilt Arthur still felt. "You aren't to blame, Arthur. If anything, the fault should lie with us, your knights. It is our duty to defend Camelot and its rulers, and we failed to do that."

Arthur shook his drooping head. His voice remained quiet, gone flat and emotionless. "Maybe, but that doesn't erase my own failure to save him. I can't let him down again, no matter what I think or feel about what he's done. And… And I can’t bear the thought of losing more people I care about because of my failure."

Lancelot inhaled sharply. "Sire—" he began. The words died in his throat as he caught the shift in Arthur's stance. When had his hand taken hold of the sword hilt?

Then Arthur was suddenly moving.

Lancelot was frozen for only a moment before he lunged after the sprinting king. "Arthur, no!"

Disoriented, Lancelot thought for a moment that the brilliant fire would leap up and consume them. But no, that was Merlin, Merlin wouldn't do that, especially not to Arthur. The danger was the king, who was bearing down on the vulnerable egg, sword raised to strike. He had already crossed the ring of scorch marks. Too close.

He couldn't let him…!

"STOP!" With a desperate burst of speed, Lancelot threw himself forward, tackling Arthur from behind. Their legs fouled, and they tumbled. The breath was smashed from Lancelot's body as they both collided with the plinth at full speed. They collapsed to the floor in a clatter and tangle of limbs. Arthur was groaning.

Then Lancelot heard it: a stony scrape just above him, and the faintest whistle of air. He turned his head just in time to catch a flash of pale blue tumbling past him. Then the object hit the floor, with a clacking sound that seemed almost ominously soft.

With dread rising like bile in his throat, Lancelot slowly tilted his head down, already knowing what he would see. The egg had rolled to a sluggish stop next to his foot. A long, thin crack spidered along its length like a bolt of deadly lightning.

Then the chamber began to rumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the bit of delay on this one, and for no replies to all your lovely comments last chapter. A mix of Covid fatigue, ongoing writer's block, and starting a replay of the Mass Effect series have been getting to me, but don't worry! I'm actually into the next installment of the series now, and while it's been giving me trouble considering some rather pivotal stuff happens in it, this one is definitely going to be finished. I'll try to get back to replying as well.
> 
> In the meantime... sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger >:)


	9. Legacy

The third bookcase disappeared with another blast of light.

Merlin was grinning now. He almost couldn't believe this was happening. Centuries spent traveling the world, always on the lookout, but never finding more than vague hints and disconnected scraps of his people's history. Surely such fortune couldn't be a reality. He could never have imagined—

The floor rocked beneath his feet. Merlin stumbled where he knelt, catching himself before he could collapse fully on the floor.

No! What…?

His mind’s eye flew open, racing to the top of the tower. What he saw froze him in horror.

"Aithusa…" he whispered.

The chamber jolted again, and he could hear the fierce rumbling of stone sliding against stone. Gasping, Merlin sprang to his feet. He didn't think, he just had to act. Feet planted wide and firm, bracing himself for what he was about to do, Merlin thrust outward with his arms and with his magic. He could feel it, like loosely flowing tendrils around him suddenly snapping to attention, then lashing upward like many long, dexterous limbs. His invisible reach caught and scrabbled against walls, ceilings, and supports, burrowing _through_ solid rock and winding up and up and up almost to the peak of the tower. Gritting his teeth in preparation, his intent rushed outward and turned those invisible limbs solid, holding on tight. That preparation didn’t help much. 

"GAAAAHH!" The ragged scream tore from his throat as it felt like the entire weight of the tower had fallen on him. He almost crumpled to the floor, getting knocked down to one knee even, but with another gritted shout dragged out from behind clenched teeth, Merlin just managed to keep himself upright, pouring his entire will and strength into maintaining his telekinetic grip. The tower still rumbled and shifted, but Merlin had a hold of it now. As long as he could withstand it, the tomb would not fall.

God, it felt like his muscles were unraveling and snapping apart! The strain on his magic, even after he had let more of it free, was almost too much to bear. He would have to bear it, though. The only way Merlin had gotten out before the tower collapsed in the past was by manipulating time. Arthur and Lancelot certainly couldn't do that.

_"L-Lancelot!"_ he threw out in mindspeak. He had to turn off his mind's eye. It was too much, far too much. _"Get Arthur out of here!"_

* * *

Lancelot's heart jumped into his throat as he felt the floor beneath begin to shake.

"What…?" Arthur sat up, bleary confusion replacing the dangerous determination he displayed just a moment before.

"It's a trap!" Lancelot jumped to his feet.

_"L-Lancelot!"_

The knight flinched as Merlin's voice, sounding in wretched pain, shouted in his head. _"Get Arthur out of here!"_

_"Merlin, where are you? What's wrong?!"_

_"JUST DO IT!"_

Fear for his friend warred with the order. In the end, his vow as a knight took precedent. He had to protect the king.

"Sire, come on!" he said, rushing to Arthur's side. Arthur had a hand to his head and didn't seem entirely lucid. Had Lancelot knocked his head into the plinth when he'd tackled him?

"The egg…" Arthur muttered. He was still loosely gripping his sword.

Lancelot shot a glance toward the object of their mission. The rumbling chamber rocked it back and forth, almost gently. The long crack in the pearly shell stood out starkly.

He could grab it, hoping against hope that the fall hadn’t damaged it terminally, but what could he say to justify it to Arthur and the knights? He couldn’t come up with falsehoods on the fly like Merlin did, and he couldn’t be honest without betraying his friend’s trust. If he brought the egg with him, it would face destruction regardless.

_I'm so sorry, Merlin. I couldn't do what you entrusted me to do._

"Leave it!" he said out loud to Arthur. "This tower is going to come down, and soon. We have to escape."

"But the mission… have to do it…"

In a moment of turbulent emotion, his fear for their lives, his fear for Merlin, and the bitter sting of failure, Lancelot broke his self-imposed boundaries. He seized Arthur by the shoulders and shook him. "You cannot be a good king nor someone you believe your father would be proud of if you're dead! When this tower collapses, the egg will be crushed. You've done what you set out to do, now leave it be!"

The rough shaking and Lancelot actually shouting managed to spark keenness back into Arthur's eyes. He only deliberated a moment, gaze flicking to the egg, before nodding.

"Then let's go!" Pace only wavering a little, he picked up a sprint for the stairs, Lancelot close at his heels. He kept a close eye on the king, hoping that the knock on the head would not hinder him until they were clear of the danger. As they flew down the stairs, struggling not to be flung downward as the stones beneath them jumped and rattled, Lancelot could only trust in Merlin's ability and luck to make it out as well.

_You had better, Merlin. I'll never forgive myself if you don't._

* * *

Merlin stood bowed in the library chamber, feeling on the verge of snapping, both under the strain of keeping the tower standing and from being faced once again with his own incompetence.

How could he have expected anything less? Things had been going wrong since they had first set foot in this valley. He shouldn't have overstepped his limits. He should have just settled for saving Aithusa, but he had let his own wants get in the way of what was most important. Now Aithusa had been hurt, even though he had sworn he would never allow that to happen again, and on top of that, most of this treasure was going to be destroyed anyway. Merlin's head lowered even further. The shame was almost as crushing as the weight.

_It doesn't have to be this way._

The thought ghosted across his mind, so quiet and simple. Every limb locked up. He tried to banish it, but he could never truly hide from himself.

_All this strain, it's completely false. It's all my own doing anyway. It isn't coming from the tower; it's from the shielding, the restraints._

Merlin could feel them now. They were the cause of the intense, ethereal pain that was twisting him up inside, like invisible manacles strangling and cutting into his magic, weighing it down. Even with the extra reserves he'd set free to execute this plan, it still wasn't enough to withstand the weight of the tower forever. He felt a warm trickle of blood beginning to run down from his nose. 

_Take them off._

No! What was he even thinking?!

_If I take them off, holding up this tower would be nothing._

The incredible mass of stone above his head groaned again, and Merlin flinched as the pain he was in spiked.

_I can take them off. Then I won't have to have failed at all._

Hope bloomed inside, even as his limbs seized with pain. If he just gave in to that desire, then he could erase every mistake he'd made these past two days. How simple it would be...

Eyes watering from strain, Merlin glanced around. There were still so many shelves of history and information here. There was still the other chamber, with the relics of the dragonlords stored inside. It was so much that he had wanted to know for so long.

_"Move towards the light."_ His father's voice whispered in his memories, as he remembered it in that dream he'd had months back, as it was all those centuries ago. It was comforting and warm. _“Do not be afraid. Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be.”_

With his father’s assurance and gentle pride guiding him, Merlin felt the tension leave for a moment. At the core of his being, he felt the restraints begin to fade away.

Then he went rigid. Balinor’s voice was drowned out by another memory, one that broke through the first and flooded his mind, beginning to consume his vision, and sent his heartbeat kicking up to a near deadly rate. At first it was just a sound, a foreboding hum so powerful he remembered the feeling of it rattling his bones.

“No, please…!” he gasped, but he couldn’t push the memory back this time. It swallowed him, carried him back eight years ago to _that night_ , and the terrible, terrible light. He remembered it in crystal clear detail.

The walls and ceiling of his prison were crumbling. Not to the ground, but into the air, the chunks of steel and concrete rising into the storming sky—his own doing—and bursting into dust. The rain was not falling, it was _rising,_ drawing up unnaturally from the puddles and little streams cradled in the cracked linoleum, and pelting back into the lightning-scarred clouds. People were screaming in terror around him, but their voices were nearly drowned out by the bone-shaking hum pulsing in his ears. He could feel the restraints at his wrists and ankles that had held him for so long stuttering out of existence. How had they ever managed to hold him? He felt weightless, his feet no longer touching the floor. And of course, there was the light. 

_His_ light. 

It pounded in waves through his veins, unrestrained, cracking through his skin like he was made of rice paper and seeping out in blinding beams. He could feel it burning out of his eyes—if he even still had eyes—and come shattering out through his mangled hands. It swelled in his chest like an imploding star, until he was sure it would shatter him apart into a billion pieces.

Worse than the pain, though, was the fact that even as it felt like his body was being torn apart at the seams, he was… accepting. Calm. Or perhaps numbed. This was better than darkness, and fear, and grief. This was the way it was supposed to be. This was what he was _meant_ to be.

He was Emrys. He had been kept too long in the dark, but suddenly he was free. And now nothing and no one would stand in his way.

“NO!” Merlin screamed his denial, and the memory shattered like a broken mirror. The magical restraints went snapping back into place as he struggled to shove the memory back into its box. The tower’s weight bore down on him again, but he refused to give in and let his magic free. He wouldn’t _ever_ allow a repeat of that night to happen, no matter what. Merlin let out a hitched breath, before shaking his head. _No. I'm sorry, father, but I can't trust in what I am. I’ve seen it. I know what I can do, and I_ will not _give into it again._

As much as it killed him, Merlin knew in that moment that he could live with this loss. He had managed for centuries without knowledge of the dragonlords. Now he had at least a few of their records, far more than he had ever hoped for. He would have to be content with that, and hope that his mistake hadn't already cost more than he was willing to pay.

He would not give in to the light. Not even for this.

His mind's eye flickered open and shut, just in time to see Arthur and Lancelot leaping clear of the tomb and making for the edge of the forest. The others were all already gone, either having left the tomb earlier or having fled the moment it started to quake. He could let go now.

Taking in one last sight of this place and all it contained, Merlin released his hold on the tomb, and vanished from the room in a blast of dark mist.

* * *

The ground was trembling so fiercely, Lancelot was convinced a great boulder would fall and crush him at any moment, even now that he and Arthur were clear of the tomb. He stumbled over his own feet as the ground heaved beneath him, but Arthur was there to catch him by the arm.

"To the trees!" Arthur shouted. The two of them didn't give up their flat run until the dappled shade of the forest canopy fell across them and they had climbed up to the safety of a nearby slope. Only then did they slow down and turn to look back.

They had gotten clear only just in time, it seemed. They had only just made it out of range when the trembling structure finally buckled in on itself. Great square stones tumbled and rolled in what looked like a swelling wave as Ashkenar's tomb collapsed from top to bottom with a deafening tumult. They looked on wordlessly until the last stones came crashing down into the wreckage heap. The roar faded away, until the day was still and sunny once again.

Lancelot's breath stalled in his lungs. Merlin had gotten out, hadn't he? With the power he had displayed just a little while ago with that great fire wall, surely he wouldn't have let himself get caught in that?

"Arthur! Lancelot!"

The two of them spun around. The other knights were running up to them, their hair and shoulders coated with a layer of dust.

"You made it out!" Elyan cried. "You had us worried there for a minute."

"What the hell happened in there?!" Gwaine asked, his attention fixated on the remains of the legendary tomb.

"I...I tried to make a run for the egg," Arthur said. Now that they were out of immediate danger, he still seemed a little disoriented, slumping back against the tree. "Lancelot tried to stop me, and we knocked the egg off its pedestal. It triggered a trap."

Covered by a few exclamations of shock and concern, Lancelot swallowed deeply. Would Arthur read anything suspicious into what he had done? He hadn't been thinking of the consequences of his actions, just that he had to keep the egg from being destroyed. Arthur, however, said nothing more about it, and Elyan spoke up instead.

"So the egg has been dealt with?" he asked.

"Nothing could have survived under all that," Leon said, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare and the cloud of dust that had settled over the surrounding area.

Lancelot still felt that sting of guilt, but now it was buried beneath a much greater worry for Merlin. He had been on the ground floor, so he should have been able to get out before anyone else, but if he had been reckless and tried to save the egg…

"Leon's right," Arthur said wearily. "Our mission is over. Let's head back to camp."

As the group picked up and began to walk, Lancelot fell to the back of the group. He didn't really know how this worked, so all he could do was think as loudly as he could while they picked their way back to their clearing. _"Merlin, where are you? Are you all right?"_

Nothing. The worry grew into fear. Luckily, he didn't have to bear that fear long.

There was a crashing up ahead in the thick foliage. The group pulled to a halt just as Merlin himself came barreling through the bushes. Lancelot stared in mild shock. Merlin looked...fine. There was no dust on him, no trace of the agony Lancelot had heard over their mindspeech. He looked just as he had early this morning, with the addition of wide eyes and leaf litter dusting his hair and his arm sling.

"What happened?" he cried, trotting forward. "I heard this giant noise!"

Gwaine summed it up nicely for them. "Tower fell down on us."

Merlin's eyes just about bugged out of his skull. Lancelot gave a minute shake of his head. If he didn't know better, he would have absolutely believed Merlin had just been hanging back at camp. How had he gotten ahead of them anyway? What had happened in the vault?

Merlin pointed a stiff finger at them. "I can't leave you people alone for five minutes, can I?" he said, voice straining as if he was barely keeping himself from shouting. "Is anyone injured?"

"Arthur hit his head," Lancelot said.

The king gave him a slightly disgruntled look, but said nothing, glancing away quickly. Letting out a frustrated blast of air through his nostrils, Merlin said, "I'll look at it back at camp." Then he turned on his heel and stalked off again.

Shooting a wary look at the others, Lancelot hurried to catch up. "Merlin," he whispered as he drew level with the servant. Merlin didn't look at him. "Merlin, I...I'm sorry. The egg—"

"Not now, Lancelot," Merlin cut him off.

There was a tone in his voice, that same strain he had heard earlier, that put Lancelot on alert. Looking closer, he realized his earlier observation was incorrect. Merlin did look different than he had this morning. It was difficult to tell—Merlin was already so pale—but his skin had gained an ashy quality that did not look healthy. There was the barest sign of trembling in his shoulders and hands, and he was staring straight ahead, but not really looking at anything. And was that a speck of blood on his upper lip?

"Merlin, I—"

"Please… Not now."

A heavy weight of shame landed on Lancelot's shoulders. Slowly, he fell back a step, and said no more.

The group filed back into their camp, and as they did the seriousness that fell over all of them during the heat of a mission started to dissipate. Elyan and Percival started up a conversation, and Gwaine stopped to shake the dust from his hair like a dog would shake off water.

A hand landed on Lancelot's shoulder before the knight could settle. It was Arthur.

"Sir Lancelot," Arthur said, strangely formally. He was still looking a little out of it, and Merlin was waiting for Arthur near one of the fallen logs with an impatient look, but Arthur seemed determined to say what he'd come to say. "I wanted to thank you for what you did back in the tomb."

"It was nothing more than my sworn duty, sire," Lancelot said, flicking a guilty eye toward Merlin. "But even then, it was technically my fault that the trap was triggered."

Arthur shook his head. "I see now that I was terribly reckless. You never would have had to come after me if I had thought things through better. For all you knew, you could have been jumping to your death in the flames alongside me. I thank you for your loyalty." He was still speaking in that unusually stiff way, distant and unnatural.

"As I said, I vowed to serve you. I would have laid down my life for you."

Arthur nodded, before clapping him on the shoulder and heading off toward Merlin. Lancelot watched him go, then observed the two of them together.

Lancelot had learned over the years and throughout his many travels the benefits of observation. An orphaned peasant boy with no money had to learn to evaluate and adapt to the world around him to survive, let alone pick up the skills to one day become a knight. When it came to reading people and what they weren't saying out loud, Lancelot judged his abilities to be fair.

Arthur and Merlin went about their usual routine perfectly normally on the surface. Lancelot could just make out Merlin's concerned gripes as he began poking at the bump on Arthur's head, and Arthur even threw out an insulting jab in return.

Below the surface, they were, well, a mess. Arthur kept his face angled slightly away from everyone else, not even looking at Merlin while teasing him. His whole frame was stiff with tension, and he had pulled off his gloves in order to fidget with the ring he always wore. Arthur did not confide in Lancelot, nor any of his knights, the way he did Merlin or Gwen, but Lancelot knew him well enough to see the signs of the young king's insecurity. Lancelot had a feeling what Arthur had let slip out loud in the tomb was only the surface of what was now troubling him so deeply. And Merlin… Lancelot honestly couldn't tell what he was picking up from Merlin, but whatever it was, it was wrong. He moved around Arthur like the king was made of glass, and even as he let out a stream of scolding and sarcastic remarks, his expression read false every time.

Whatever was going on with his two friends, Lancelot had to find a way to help. Merlin might not be himself at the moment, but Lancelot felt that he would still be the best at getting Arthur to open up. If he told Merlin what had happened in the tomb, he doubted the servant would let it lie.

As for Merlin himself, Lancelot would just have to bide his time. Only a long conversation away from unknowing ears would give him any insight into what was going on there, and he intended to collect on that conversation the moment they were back in Camelot. Until then, he had to act on what he was able.

Merlin finished tending to Arthur's head. As Arthur got up and moved towards the other knights, Lancelot approached Merlin. Best to do this now.

* * *

Another day was slipping into twilight. They would rest one more night in this valley, and then depart for Camelot with the rising sun.

Merlin leaned against a tree near the edge of their camp. The muted, post-supper conversation added a lulling quality to the air that was affecting him. It wasn't peaceful, not really, but it made Merlin feel numb. He would have taken either.

The sorrow of losing the library and all the other artifacts was there, but it was dull. He had managed to get at least a few records out, and he had come much too close to losing much more precious things because of his own recklessness. He shifted, wanting to reassure himself that the weight of his travel pack and what was inside it was still there, hidden and safe. He'd been doing that for hours, the anxiety of the near miss refusing to leave. But he'd managed it, just in time.

And as for his other charge…

Merlin sent a low-lidded look toward Arthur, who was also sitting a little separated from the others. Lancelot's account of what had happened at the tower's top was replaying freshly in his mind.

The warlock picked at the fabric of his dirty sling. He had to talk to Arthur, but his faith in his ability to do so had been shaken over the last few days. Was Arthur still so conflicted, and yet Merlin hadn't seen it? He had thought Arthur was doing well in the wake of his father's death. With Merlin's current record of success, he might just end up putting his foot in his mouth and saying something damaging.

_Getting timid now, are we?_ He chided himself. He stood, brushing himself off and picking up his pack, refusing to leave it unguarded. He had to keep perspective. He couldn't let his blunders of the past two days knock him into a tailspin. Merlin knew that his faults lay with how he had allowed himself to become distracted, intent on pursuing his own desires and overreaching. His ability to read and communicate with Arthur was another problem entirely, and couldn't be solved by keeping his distance.

_Recognize your weaknesses, learn from your mistakes, and adapt. That's how you survive._

That lesson, given to him by a long-gone teacher, propelled him forward.

Arthur said nothing when Merlin settled next to him, which was fine by him. Better to cut right to the heart of the matter.

"Lancelot told me what happened," he said, quietly enough where this conversation would be just between the two of them.

"Did he?" Arthur sounded almost breezy. Merlin might have been out of touch in many ways, but he could already tell that the king would be meeting him with dismissal. So Merlin went for an approach he doubted Arthur was prepared for.

"Have the things Gwen and I have told you these past few months meant nothing to you?" he asked softly, feigning hurt in his voice.

Arthur blinked before swiveling to look at him, face scrunched in confusion. "What? What do you mean by that?"

"Lancelot said you mentioned your father, and upholding his legacy. You were willing to risk rushing to your near certain death for that. Has our word meant so little that you still felt you needed to prove yourself a strong king?"

"That's… Why would you come to that conclusion?" Arthur hissed, confusion turning into indignation. "This has nothing to do with you or Gwen!"

"Then what is it about?" Merlin asked, leaning in and locking gazes with Arthur. "All of us—me, Gwen, Gaius, your knights—have expressed our belief in you. What exactly is it that invalidates that trust?"

The accusatory tone was not well-received. "I wouldn't expect a servant to understand these matters," Arthur snapped, only just managing to keep his voice low.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many kingdoms' fates have you had sitting on your shoulders recently?"

The dry response of ‘too many’ floated through his head and passed on unspoken, as easily as the insult in Arthur's tone passed him by. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't understand your position. But if you don't explain it to me, what other conclusion can I come to but that you don't trust us to tell you the truth about yourself?"

That seemed to corner Arthur, as Merlin had hoped. Arthur turned his face away, brows drawn down low in a troubled frown.

"Do you still feel guilty about your father's death? I've said before, no blame can be put on you for what happened."

Slowly, Arthur began to shake his head. "I'm sorry, Merlin, but I'll always feel guilty for what happened, and that is a great part of it. But not all of it."

This time Merlin said nothing. Instead, he waited.

Arthur scrubbed at his face, staring toward the flickering campfire. "What I saw in that tower… it caught me off guard. The night my father died, I had a lot of time to think during the vigil, about him and about magic. It all just came back to me rather suddenly yesterday."

Merlin remained silent. The pause lasted a while, Arthur perhaps hoping that Merlin would take the explanation as it was, but eventually he gave in again.

"I was always taught that magic is corrupting and evil, and what evidence I've seen seems to agree with that. But I'm beginning to see lately that the whole thing was muddier than I'd ever realized." He shrugged forlornly. "After all, I was still just the prince until recently. I thought my father would reign for many more years, and I was free to focus on training the knights and going on quests. It was unwise of me, I see that now. Now that I'm king, and looking at the legacy my father left me…"

Arthur glanced back in the direction of the tomb. "The Purge was a dark time, and extreme measures were taken to protect the kingdom. I can't ignore that now. My father did what he thought was necessary to make Camelot safe, but knowing that those measures extended to people that might not have committed crimes yet is a thought that's just been getting heavier. All the people that made those weapons, those records, that art that we saw are gone. We both watched the last dragonlord die. And now that tomb and possibly the last dragon egg are gone too. The dragonlords of Albion truly are no more. That's what my father left me… and what I’ve just finished, it seems." He didn’t seem happy about that. 

Merlin nodded hesitantly. What Arthur was saying actually sounded positive. He was seeing the darkness of Uther's actions, though he wasn't quite ready to let go of the filter his love for his father had placed over his perception, but in that case, what had prompted the actions he'd taken in the tomb? "And yet you followed in your father's footsteps," he said. He took a short inhale. "Do you agree with his path, then? Do you plan to follow it?"

For the first time in a while, Arthur turned to look at Merlin. There was a conflict raging in his eyes. "...In this instance at least. For his memory, as I figure out what it means to rule. I can't let it go just yet. And for you."

Merlin blinked.

"For Leon," Arthur went on. "For Gwen. For my knights and my people. No matter what I may feel about what happened to the dragonlords, I remember what the Great Dragon inflicted on Camelot and all the people it killed. I remember the burnt bodies in the streets. I can hear the fear in Leon's voice when he talks about those attacks, and he's one of the bravest knights I've ever known. I've seen even your idiot stubbornness shaken by it. I admit I am sorry about the history that was lost, but I don't regret destroying the egg. That's not a legacy I can allow to survive."

Merlin nodded unconsciously. In truth, he was relieved. Arthur might be following in his father's footsteps for now, but the doubt was there, and even then he was thinking of his people before his own fears and prejudices. The changes Merlin had made had not further damaged his opinion of magic. A few examples for the better might be all that was necessary to change Arthur's mind for good.

"So," Arthur said, letting out a deep breath and interrupting Merlin's thoughts, "I explained it. Happy now?"

Merlin huffed. "I suppose I am. And I think I do understand now."

"Good," Arthur said shortly. "I'm glad that was straightened out." He stood up, and without another word strode off to join the others closer to the fire. Merlin let him go. He'd learned what he'd needed to know.

It seemed like they had both been forced to confront their legacies today. As Kilgharrah had said long ago, they had shown themselves to be opposite sides of the same coin. Arthur, just recently bereaved of his father, clung to Uther's teachings even when he was troubled by doubt. Merlin, who only had a few hours long, long ago with his father to treasure, had rejected the last advice Balinor had spoken to him.

_The past is always acting on the present, which is always morphing the future. If only it was easier to know when we're changing it, and when we're repeating the cycle._ Reaching to his side, Merlin rested his hand on his pack. Beneath his hand, the worn fabric, and the hard surface under that, Merlin could feel a small pulse of life. _We'll carve out a new future, you and I. A better one._

The grass rustled next to Merlin as Lancelot took the place where Arthur had been.

"Lancelot," Merlin said under his breath before the knight could speak. "I wanted to thank you. No matter how things happened, you risked a lot by trying to help me."

"You shouldn't be thanking me. I wasn't able to protect it."

"Don't go there. Any blame is mine. I should have been prepared." Once again he was keeping secrets from Lancelot, but in this case he thought it was for the better. If Lancelot didn't know the truth, he couldn't say anything nor be held accountable should that truth ever come to light. "It's something we're both going to have to focus on more and more," he said, hoping the change in topic would keep Lancelot from guilt. He had done all he could, and though he didn't know it, it had been enough. "What we've done to ward Camelot is a start, but there's a lot more that needs to be done yet."

The grass rustled as Lancelot shifted ever so slightly closer. Merlin steeled himself. He had been expecting this, and he had already decided on how it would be handled. He couldn't maintain complete secrecy forever.

"You said you would explain things," Lancelot said, simply and directly. "You've changed a lot over the past few seasons, Merlin, and the… abilities you displayed in the tomb were like nothing I've ever seen before."

"Don't forget, you haven't seen much of what I can do before. Often I think it's better to resolve a situation with minimal required force, rather than blasting through every problem. Too easy to become power drunk."

"Even so, what I haven't seen doesn't change what I have," said Lancelot.

"I know." Merlin turned to look his friend square in the eye. "And after what you did for me today, it's long past time you were due an explanation. When we return to Camelot, you'll have one, and that's a promise. For now, though," he said, turning back toward the light of the campfire as his own flame cradled within burned in tandem with it, "would you mind very much if we left it until then? I'm tired."

Lancelot was too good a man. Merlin already knew he would accept, before he even nodded his head. "Of course," he murmured. The shadows falling around them twisted as Lancelot rose. "Good night, Merlin."

Finally Merlin was alone again. He didn't even bother shifting over to his pallet. While the knights continued to hum with sleepy conversation, Merlin lay back on the loamy ground, eyes peering upward to the starry heaven fields.

Arm shifting to the side, he pulled his pack closer to him, his frame curling around it just slightly. With the faintest flicker of magic, Merlin pulled back the flap of his pack a little. It was open just enough to let the silvery moonlight overhead wink off of a pale blue shell. The crack in the shell was painfully visible, and it made Merlin's heart clench. He didn't know what damage it might have done, but all that mattered for now was that he could still feel Aithusa in there. The unborn dragon still lived, and that was enough for now.

As the night marched on, Merlin kept his dragon close, the warm pulse of life within the egg beating in time with his fire-laced heartbeat. He fell asleep like that, and dreamed of flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that eases some anxieties at least a little. Sorry for leaving you all hanging with that last chapter. Only a wrap-up chapter and an epilogue to go!


	10. Confession

Camelot's white turrets appeared over the horizon in the late morning, two days after they had set out from the hidden valley.

For the most part, Merlin felt relieved. This quest had taken turns that he hadn't been prepared for, and it had been a far greater trial than he could have anticipated. Returning to Camelot felt like a return to the normal, a restart. Now that the remains of Ashkenar's tomb lay many leagues away and the city was within sight, it felt easier to put it all behind him, like a chapter or episode closed as he looked ahead to the next one.

However, it also meant that he would be compelled to provide an explanation for Gaius and Lancelot, and soon.

Lancelot had been keeping an eye on him the whole trip back. The knight tried to make it seem like he wasn't, but Merlin didn't need his mind's eye to know when someone was looking at him behind his back. He didn't hold any ill will for it. He knew his friend was concerned and probably also feeling guilty. Merlin did not intend to tell him about the egg just yet, so he would have to make a conscious effort to reassure Lancelot that he didn't blame him.

As for the other matter that was troubling the knight, and Merlin as well, Merlin had been thinking about it most of the way back, rehearsing how he planned to frame things. He already had a notion of what he was going to say, but… To tell them even a modicum of the future was a great gamble, but perhaps one he should be willing to hazard. Having fresh eyes to look over what was to come that might see a facet of it that he would have missed himself could be very helpful. 

But that was still only a portion of the truth, and Merlin had no idea what to do with the rest of it? Would they even believe it if he tried? And if they did...

Merlin swallowed, before turning his head a bit to catch Lancelot looking again. The knight glanced away quickly, but Merlin had caught the worry and care. Would Lancelot or Gaius look at him the same way if they knew the truth?

With a signal from the king, the group sped up to a gallop, riders and horses spurred on by the sight of home despite their weariness. They reached the city within the hour. Greetings and hails from the townsfolk and guardsmen followed them as they wound their way through the lower town and up toward the citadel. Hooves thundered over the keep drawbridge and clattered into the castle courtyard. At last, they were back.

Merlin swung down, aggravating the aches and soreness gained over days of riding but choosing to ignore them. He could bear them a little longer.

Rubbing his mare's nose, he led her over to where Lancelot was also dismounting. Merlin gave a few cheerful grins and greetings to the stable hands that had run up to assist them, but the smile dropped as he came up to Lancelot.

"I have duties to take care of, but I haven't forgotten my promise," he said quietly. "Take some time to rest, then come to Gaius's chambers tonight after dark. I swore he would also have some answers when I returned."

Lancelot nodded. "All right. Until tonight."

Merlin's only reply was to return a solemn nod of his own before switching right back into cheerful servant mode. He handed off his horse and scurried after Arthur, clutching his bag and its precious weight close.

He was permitted at least to return to his own chambers and put aside his own things before attending to his master. Merlin hurried through the corridors and up to the quiet solitude of the physician's tower.

"Gaius?" he called as he opened the door. He cast his gaze across the room and up along the elevated railing. Gaius wasn't there. Good. He headed for his room, his pack now cradled in his hands. Aithusa's warmth bled through the worn fabric. Merlin had to sequester him away somewhere safe, just for a little longer.

He had just settled the egg into its hiding place when he heard the door to the physician's chamber open and caught Gaius calling his name. Breathing deep, Merlin allowed his shoulders to droop, and schooled his face into blank neutrality before he answered the call.

"You're back," Gaius said as Merlin descended the stairs. "Did you—"

Merlin could tell the moment Gaius picked up on his expression. He had wondered, after how he had underestimated Gaius before, if he was even capable of fooling the man anymore. This time, though, his performance was method. He had come too close to losing everything, and the real loss of the dragonlord library was strong enough that whatever sorrow Gaius was reading was not faked.

Merlin slowly shook his head. He only allowed the truth to pass his lips. "I messed it up, Gaius. I lost focus and the egg was damaged." He hung his head. "The tower collapsed and I couldn't stop it."

A deep sigh escaped the old man. Merlin heard his robes swishing against the floor before he was engulfed in a hug. His body wanted to stiffen, but Merlin forced himself to remain loose, returning the hug as best he could.

"I'm so sorry, my boy," Gaius murmured. "Whatever happened, I know you did your utmost to protect it."

Merlin withdrew from the embrace. He would never not be grateful for the ways in which Gaius had been like a father to him, but it felt wrong receiving baseless praise or comfort. Aithusa was still alive after all. He didn't truly need the reassurance.

"I would rather not talk about it yet, if that's alright," he said, tugging at his jacket sleeves. "But there are things that we do need to discuss." He looked his mentor in the eye. "I know I've been acting strangely, and it's about time I shed some light on that. Tonight we'll talk. Lancelot will be there too."

Gaius looked a little taken aback, perhaps expecting for Merlin to try to conveniently forget the promise he'd made or dig his heels in, but he seemed relieved enough at the compliance to not question it. "All right, Merlin, if you're ready. But in the meantime, if you need anything…" He made sure to catch Merlin's gaze. His old mentor's blue eyes were filled with gentle compassion.

Merlin shook his head. "I'm… I'll be fine. Just need to go help Arthur."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he said, already edging toward the door. "It will keep me busy, you know? Besides, I'd rather not raise any suspicions by skiving off."

Gaius nodded. "I trust you know what's best for you at the moment," he said, "but don't forget that I'm here for you."

Merlin gifted his mentor with a single, soft half-smile as he pulled the door open. "I never doubted it, and I'll never forget it."

Then the door closed behind him with a gentle snap.

As he walked, Merlin rehearsed what he was going to say yet again. Even if he wasn't going to be revealing everything tonight, it would be more of the truth than he'd revealed to anyone in centuries. He might only be talking to two old, dear friends, but to Merlin, the approach of night felt like the calm before a battle.

* * *

Lancelot watched the king and his servant disappear into the castle, leaving the rest of the party and their horses to go their separate ways. Unbidden, a conversation he and Merlin had had on an impromptu hunting trip at the tail end of this past winter came to his mind. He remembered the feeling of having a sword hanging above them, waiting to drop. Now he wondered, had it fallen already, and he hadn't noticed?

One way or another, he would have answers tonight.

Newly returned from a quest, Arthur's inner circle was permitted to have the rest of the day free from any other duties. Normally Lancelot didn't need much rest following a journey, and couldn't resist the call of sword practice for long, but this mission had been especially draining. He indulged in a hot bath brought up to his room by a few servants and an equally hot meal. It did a good job of soothing the stresses on the body, but the stresses of the mind were waiting for the sun to set. The day seemed to crawl by as he wondered what he was going to hear.

At last, the sky began to turn the colorful hues of twilight. Finding that nothing could distract his anxious wondering, Lancelot chose to watch from his window seat as the sun slowly disappeared beyond the horizon.

 _Close enough_. He stood, pulled on his boots, and set out for the physician's tower.

When he arrived, his knock was answered almost instantly by Gaius. "Come in, Lancelot," he said brusquely. The knight could read the same tension he was feeling in the old physician. He stepped into the room as Gaius took a quick glance this way and that down the hallway outside, before shutting the door and bolting it.

The room was dim in a way that might have looked comforting, but with the current mood of its occupants, it seemed almost sinister. Lancelot couldn't see Merlin.

"He's in his room," Gaius said with a clipped tone. After a moment, the two of them settled almost awkwardly, Gaius in a small chair near the fire, and Lancelot at the physician's table.

"Has he… you know, mentioned anything before?" Lancelot murmured, keeping an eye on Merlin's bedroom door. "Given any hint?"

"No," Gaius said. "I know about as much as you do, although I've suspected something has been off with him for some time."

Lancelot nodded. "I've felt the same. He's just been so… intense. On-edge."

"Like he's waiting for something to go wrong at any moment."

"Exactly."

Gaius pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just don't understand. I know that Merlin's had to deal with many crises in the past, but none have ever caused him to behave this way. Not for such a long time."

Lancelot knew a little about that. Merlin had told him some stories, but he suspected there were far more that he hadn't heard about. "Could it just be all of it getting to him? Every man has his limit."

The physician clasped his hands together, brows furrowed. "I almost hope that's the case. However, I don't believe it's going to be that simple."

Sadly, the two of them were in agreement on that.

The door to Merlin's room creaked and both their heads whipped in that direction. Merlin descended the stairs, looking a bit tidied up after the long ride back. He was no longer wearing his arm sling. _Did he fix it with magic?_

Merlin glanced between the two members of his audience for a moment. "Is there something on my face?" he asked dryly.

Neither of them replied, and he blew out a breath. "Right." Slowly, he sat himself down at the small two-person table where he and Gaius normally took meals. The dim light and flickering shadows cast by the hearth fire danced across his face, making it difficult to read his expression. Heavy silence hung in the air.

"I'm not entirely sure how to start," Merlin finally said, almost to himself.

"The beginning is usually fitting," Gaius said, just a bit of sarcastic bite to his tone.

Merlin sighed deeply. "The beginning. That sounds so easy." His shoulders drew up defensively, and then slowly dropped as he lifted his head.

"All right then. I'll start with Samhain."

Lancelot and Gaius stayed silent, waiting. Merlin gave one small nod, and began.

"On Samhain's Eve, there was a plot by Morgana and Morgause to cripple Camelot. They had intended to travel to the Isle of the Blessed and rend the veil between the worlds, releasing a plague of dorocha on the kingdom."

Gaius let out a short gasp and went as pale as a ghost. Lancelot had no idea what a dorocha was, but that reaction told him most of what he needed to know.

"I couldn't let that happen," Merlin went on, "so I stopped them."

Gaius sputtered again. "How could you have stopped them? You were ill in bed just before the feast began!"

"Kilgharrah," Merlin replied simply. "And I wasn't as ill as I seemed. I'm sorry I lied to you."

The lingering paleness in Gaius's face was banished by a bloom of furious red in his cheeks. "So what you're saying is that you slipped away to face two high priestesses of the Old Religion alone, and apparently you told no one? Had you lost your wits, Merlin?!"

"No. I knew that it would be alright."

"You may be powerful, Merlin, but that doesn't excuse such a foolhardy—"

Merlin cut him off. "I knew I would be alright because I knew what would happen. I had already seen what would play out. Or at least one version of it."

Gaius tripped over another fatherly tirade. Lancelot ran back over what Merlin had said. What exactly was he saying?

Merlin's gaze drifted between them, fixating on the small fire instead. "The first time I experienced the events of that night, things turned out very differently. Morgana and Morgause succeeded in their plot, and nearly brought Camelot to its knees. The dorocha killed hundreds in just a few days. Arthur chose to ride out to the Isle, intending to be the sacrifice that was needed to seal the veil. Intended, but didn't succeed." The fire snapped loudly as Merlin's gaze, distant and hollow, turned toward Lancelot. "You took his place."

"What?" It was the only thing Lancelot could say. He was still struggling to get a grasp on what Merlin was telling them.

"You sacrificed your life to stop the dorocha and shut the gate between worlds," Merlin said, "even when I told you that I was going to do it. You saved Arthur, Camelot, and my life."

Lancelot's jaw worked open and shut, but Gaius finally came to the conclusion that Lancelot was struggling with before he could say anything. "Merlin, you had a vision of these events?"

Merlin broke eye contact with Lancelot. There was a long pause before at last he said, "I saw them happen before, yes.” His voice was hushed and subdued. "And it wasn't just the events of Samhain."

"Next, there was Uther's death. In that version of events, I tried to interfere. I thought that if Arthur witnessed magic being used to save his father, he would see the good in it, but I failed. Uther died and Arthur's wariness only strengthened."

"Then Borden came to Camelot, seeking the key to Ashkenar's tomb. Things turned out...very differently." The sorcerer's head hung, hiding his expression.

Lancelot stared uncomprehendingly at his friend. So Merlin had witnessed the future before it had happened? He'd said Lancelot had died. Since that hadn't happened, Merlin had changed the future and saved him. Was that why he had been so intense and focused since Samhain, determined to avert tragedies he knew were in store? But if he'd been like this for months now, how great had his vision of the future been?

It was almost as if Merlin had read his thoughts. "There was more," he said quietly. "So much more."

"There are any number of isolated incidents heading our way, ready to send Camelot into chaos if events play out poorly. Soon we might be facing war with Caerleon's kingdom. There will be attacks from magical creatures. And there will be betrayals from within Camelot’s walls," he said, sharing a quick, knowing glance with Lancelot.

"But most importantly..." Merlin trailed off. Such weight had come into those three words that Lancelot found himself leaning forward. This was it. This was the heart of matter.

"Most importantly," he said again, "is that unless things are done differently, unless I can find a way to alter the path we’re on, Arthur and Camelot are doomed."

The room was dead silent but for the soft crackling of embers in the hearth. The fire had died down, leaving the room almost entirely in shadow. Lancelot wanted to get up and stoke the flames, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"I saw Camelot fall." Merlin had gone back to staring at his hands. "Arthur was slain in battle because of Morgana's machinations. Magic never truly returned to the land. The kingdoms of Albion remained divided, and eventually fell to Saxon invaders from beyond the sea. All that was promised turned out to be nothing more than ashes."

Gaius tried to break the dark atmosphere first. "Merlin," he said reassuringly, "you've experienced visions in the past. Remember the crystal caves? The future is not set in stone, and attempting to alter it might be more damaging than helpful."

Merlin was slowly shaking his head. "I'm aware of that, but what I'm talking about is unlike anything else I've experienced. It wasn't just vague snatches of a potential future. I saw the events play out as… as if I was living them. Every action had a consequence." He looked up to meet Gaius's gaze. "The plain and simple truth is that I failed in that future. I can't allow that to happen now." Merlin's hands folded together and squeezed tight. "Morgana's still out there somewhere. If left unchecked, she will be one of the major lynchpins of Arthur's downfall, and the next time she shows her face I won't be holding back. She's slipped away from me once," he said, voice sharpening to a razor's edge, "and I don't plan to let it happen again."

"It is a daunting task you're talking about, and a precarious one," Gaius warned.

"I know that too well," Merlin said. "These past few days have shown very clearly that I cannot control everything. No matter what, though, I won't let things play out the way I saw them. I may not know what will result from the changes I make, but they have to be better than the alternative, right?" For the first time, there was a break in his hardened performance. The doubt was there, no matter how he tried to hide it.

Lancelot and Gaius shared a look between them. Lancelot was still trying to adjust to the whole matter. He hadn't had much to do with magic for most of his life, and apparently a few fights with magical creatures and being around Merlin for a while wasn't enough to prepare him for the strangeness and scale of what his friend was talking about: futures, destinies, and the greater good.

What Lancelot did know was that scale didn't matter much to him. What mattered was that Camelot and its king were in danger, and his friend seemed to be the only thing standing between them and destruction. He wouldn’t let that stand. Merlin seemed to be under the impression that it was his sole responsibility to keep these events from happening, but Lancelot begged to differ. And by the look on Gaius's face, so did he.

The physician stood, walked forward to stand before his ward, and laid his hands on his shoulders. He waited for Merlin to meet his gaze before he spoke.

"I may not be sure about this," he said, "and I may be wary of relying on visions of the future to guide us, but I know that Arthur and Camelot's destiny means more to you than anything. Whatever you intend to do, know that I'm here to help. Someone has to be there to get you out of trouble, after all," he added with a grin.

"He's right," Lancelot interjected, finding his voice at last. "I'm afraid you'll be getting help whether you want it or not. After all," he said, voice softening, "If this future you speak of would have been ours, then I owe you my life now, don't I?"

"No matter what the future has in store for us," said Gaius, "you will not be alone."

Merlin angled his face away from them. Lancelot had picked up that he did this when he knew he couldn't keep his true feelings from his expression, but the light was too dim now to see what Merlin had revealed at those words. But, after a few seconds, Lancelot caught a faint chuckle.

"I didn't expect anything less," Merlin said.

Gaius huffed, dropping his hands from Merlin's shoulders. "I should hope you didn't."

"I really don't deserve you two." When Merlin turned back to face them, any trace of deviant emotion was gone. "Alright, then. If you're in, then I think there are some things you will need to know. It might take some time though."

With a cheeky half-smile, Lancelot spread his arms wide. "We have all night."

"Seems we do." Lancelot felt a small spark of victory when the smile was returned. 

"Then we should probably get comfortable," Merlin said. "There's a lot to tell."

* * *

Merlin shut the door to his room behind him, fatigue dragging at his legs and arms. At this point it wouldn't be long before the sun began to rise. Best to get in a few hours of sleep before he had to be up. He would still be tired, but he would manage.

Merlin sat on his bed, rubbing at his sore throat. The hours he had spent relating the events of Camelot's near future—the conflict with Caerleon, Agravaine's treason, the Saxon threat, and Morgana’s various plots—to Lancelot and Gaius had worn on his voice. All those hours, just for the next five years.

Despite his earlier nervousness, he was glad of what he had shared. Getting some of the weight off of his chest was relief, since it was a large part of the guilt that plagued him every day, and it would give Lancelot and Gaius an explanation for why he had changed so much. As for the rest...

He had thought about telling them more. Truly, he had. Even as he revealed what was to come for Camelot, the weight of literally everything else had sat heavy on him, as well as the guilt of presenting an honest confession while withholding all but a sliver of the truth. And, as he realized the relief that his partial retelling had bought him, he had wondered if it might be worth it to say more. But in the end he hadn’t. The whole topic was such a massive mountain to tackle that he wouldn’t even know how to approach it, especially with how overwhelmed they seemed just by five years worth of the future. Ultimately, he’d decided that it was a matter for another time, if that time ever came. After all, beyond the knowledge it gave them of what was in store for Camelot, the long future ahead was of no relevance, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Camelot's fate could be changed. Merlin's could not.

Speaking of changing fates…

Merlin listened intently for a moment. He couldn't hear anything outside. Gaius had a talent for falling asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow. When he picked up a faint snore, Merlin crouched, pulling away the loose floorboard beneath his bed. The gleam of pale blue shell winked out at him. Carefully, he drew out the cracked egg, wrapped up in one of his few spare coats. The life inside still pulsed against his palms.

Merlin rubbed his thumb along the crack as he spoke softly to that fledgling spark of magic in his hands. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I lost sight of my priorities, and I'm sorry for whatever effect this might have on you. But I'll do better in the future. I won't put you at risk, and I won't leave you alone, not again."

Tucking the egg close as he turned for the door, he said, "I think you've waited long enough, little one."

The flutter against his hand almost seemed like a reply. Merlin smiled. "You're right. Let's go, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conclusory chapter done! Only an epilogue left, which will go up tomorrow actually; it's only a short little capstone and I don't want to make you guys wait. Besides, I'm sure for a lot of us a little extra pick-me-up is very much needed right now. To my American readers, I hope you're all holding out okay and taking care of yourselves <3


	11. Epilogue

The sound of Merlin’s footsteps tapped quietly in the empty halls. The night’s darkness had settled over the castle some time ago, and he knew which ways to turn to avoid the guards as he descended through the many crossing passages. His worn shoulder bag swung against his hip, the weight of it bumping gently against him with every step.

Merlin hit the ground floor and kept going, though not toward the castle’s exit. He turned inward instead, pushing his magic outward as he did. On the more sparsely guarded upper floors he could stick to the solitary paths, but there were far more guards down here. However, by tuning his magic to turn all attention away from him, to reduce his presence to that of a whisper and a shadow flickering at the corner of the eye, he could pass by the unwary with ease as he made his way toward Camelot’s dungeons.

The natural light of the moon that leaked in through the windows slowly faded away, until only torchlight was left to keep the darkness at bay. Merlin wound his way down the stairs, past the pair of guards leaning sleepily against the walls at the main junction separating the cell blocks, and passed through the darkest of the tunnels. The further he went, the lighter and swifter his steps became. Still downward he traveled, until the cells ended entirely. Only a pair of barred doors locked with chains were left, blocking another long stairwell descending into complete blackness.

_“Tospringe,”_ Merlin whispered. With a rasp and rattle, the chain slid away, allowing Merlin to push his way through. Holding up his hand, a pale blue orb of light winked into existence. Gripping the strap of his bag, he went down into the pool of darkness.

In the black and quiet, with only his own muted noises to hear, his descent seemed to be locked in time, strangely long and yet moment-brief at the same time. _It’s still so strange, coming back down here again after all these years…_

His magical light, its beams confined to the narrow width of the shrinking hallway, suddenly broke free, the boundaries of its reach rushing out as he emerged into the great space of Kilgharrah’s old prison. Now, though, it did not look so much like a prison. Where the old dragon used to perch, Merlin’s light illuminated a small space ringed with four bookshelves, a little battered and old, but overflowing with precious knowledge. In the center of the ring was a simple desk and chair, pilfered from vacant guest rooms upstairs.

With a flicker, there one moment and gone the next, Merlin jumped himself over to his small study. He released the orb light from his hand, and with a whispered word he sent it higher into the air. As it ascended, it expanded until it was nearly the size of a globe, and changed color from a cool blue to the warm gold of firelight. The dismal cave space transformed into something private and welcoming.

Merlin glanced around for a moment, brows furrowed, before setting his heavy bag down on the desktop. As he withdrew the contents, he raised his voice until it echoed through the cave. “Aithusa?” he called lightly. “Aithusa, I’m here.”

He’d just finished drawing out the small stack of books from his pack and arranging them on the desk when he heard the faint flapping of tiny wings. Even now, Merlin’s heart leaped with joy at the sound, a smile growing on his face. He heard scratching and turned to face it. Perched atop one of the shelves, peering down at him and crooning, was the little white dragon. As soon as Merlin laid eyes on it, it trilled with unrestrained excitement and flung itself forward into his anticipating arms.

“There you are,” Merlin said softly, running his fingers along the dragon’s arching spine. Aithusa squeaked with happiness. “Were you off exploring?”

It had only been a month since Ashkenar’s tomb and Aithusa’s hatching, so Merlin doubted much of what he said made sense to the young creature yet, but the chirping he received almost seemed like a reply regardless. Nearly every night of that month had been spent sneaking down here, and even now, as Aithusa squirmed and nuzzled against him, Merlin couldn’t help looking over the tiny creature, as if he couldn’t believe he was really there. But the snowy scales were real, the bright blue eyes that were not quite reptilian but not quite human were real. And the right wing, noticeably bent awkwardly and deformed, was real as well.

Merlin’s focus on the twisted wing was interrupted by those tiny blue eyes darting into his vision again, stealing his attention as Aithusa warbled in his arms. 

Merlin chuckled, walking the two of them over to the desk. Aithusa leaped down from his spot with catlike grace, landing with a clatter of claws on the desktop.

“You know me too well, Aithusa,” Merlin said as walked to one of the bookshelves, searching for a particular tome. He might still be just a baby, Aithusa already seemed to read his moods as easily as Merlin read books. And perhaps it was for the best. Deformed as it looked, the wing did not seem to hurt Aithusa, and while it made him awkward and rather slow in flight, it wasn’t bad enough to ground him completely. Perhaps it need only serve as a reminder of Merlin’s near mistakes and where his priorities should lie, rather than as a punishment. “Not getting into any trouble down here on your own, are you?” he asked playfully as he pulled out the book he had been looking for and returned to the desk. “Not tormenting the bat populations further in?”

Aithusa chirped again, but as Merlin sat and set the book down before him, the young dragon grew quiet. Merlin paused. “What is it?” he asked.

Slowly, Aithusa inched his way forward, before laying his tiny muzzle across Merlin’s knuckles, staring up at him with such a pitiful look that he would have put any puppy to shame. Merlin’s gut twisted. Aithusa only did that for one thing.

“Not tonight,” he said, gently pulling his hand away to scratch Aithusa’s head. “We went out just last night, and I need to work on this. Perhaps the night after next, yeah?”

The little dragon seemed to wilt, a sad trill warbling in his throat. He didn’t protest, merely curling himself into a ball and resting his nose on his tail. Merlin sighed sadly, stroking a hand down Aithusa’s back one more time before turning back to his books. He flipped open the first one and did his best to concentrate, but the faint rustling of tiny scales and the echo of Aithusa’s disappointment muscled their way in regardless. He tried to tell himself that this wouldn’t be forever, just as he had a month ago.

It had been a decision made at the moment of Aithusa’s hatching. Just like he had the first time, he had snuck out to the old clearing and summoned Kilgharrah to witness the birth of his new kin. When he’d called Aithusa out from his egg, and the little dragon and come wiggling free, Merlin had caught sight of the deformed wing almost instantly, stifling the joy of the moment like a candle snuffed out by the wind. His mind was made up then and there.

“I’ll keep him with me,” he had told Kilgharrah as the newborn tumbled from the stump and waddled in the grass. 

Kilgharrah had chuffed. “Planning on hiding him under your bed?”

“Under Camelot is a bit more suitable.”

Kilgharrah’s shock and displeasure had been palpable. “You would lock a young dragon up in those terrible caves? To suffer the way I suffered?!” he spat.

“Of course not! I’m not going to leave him alone in the dark and chained up. Right now he’s young and vulnerable. I would be more comfortable if he were nearby, and Camelot’s caverns are the only place a dragon can be kept safely out of sight, especially once he starts to grow.”

“He’s hardly a human child,” Kilgharrah had protested. “He is more than capable of roaming free, as he should. Dragons are self-sufficient even from birth.”

“But not invincible.” Merlin had been keeping his attention on the hatchling as he scrambled around in the long grass, but at this he had finally broken his gaze and turned to look up at the elder dragon instead. “Something terrible happened to Aithusa in the past, but I don’t know what it was, who it was, or when exactly he was hurt. I’m not leaving that up to chance by letting him wander on his own.” His gaze had dropped again, fixating on Aithusa. The right wing was twisted at an odd angle, pointing a little upward instead of lying flat.

Kilgharrah had seemed to sense his thoughts. “Those kinds of deformities were not totally uncommon,” he’d said. “Sometimes accidents happened and eggs were damaged, but dragons are hearty. It will not hinder him overmuch.”

“It was close enough that I’m not eager to take any more risks,” Merlin replied. “Could you take him? Watch over him?”

Kilgharrah rumbled in his chest. “Unfortunately, I cannot. Not yet. Young dragons aren’t capable of keeping up with an adult dragon. They mostly stayed within range of their nests until they’d grown enough. If I were not forced to keep moving, to keep my presence undetected by humans, I might be able to raise him, but I cannot stay in one place for long.”

“Then he stays with me,” Merlin had said. They had watched the newborn leap and tumble about, all tangled in his own scrawny little limbs, snow-white scales shining like new coins in the moonlight.

“I won’t leave him in the dark,” Merlin had promised. “I’ll keep him company, and I’ll make sure he gets to spend time outdoors. I just have to be there with him. I won’t leave him alone again.”

Merlin shook himself free of the memory. The book still lay open in front of him, and Aithusa was still curled into a tight ball on the desk. 

Reaching over, Merlin patted Aithusa until the small white snout came swiveling to face him.

“Don’t worry, Aithusa,” he said sincerely, hoping that what the dragon could understand would be enough to convey what he said. “Once you’ve grown some, you won’t have to stay here anymore, and I won’t have to be with you when you go. It’s just...dangerous right now. The world isn’t kind to creatures like us. But I’m hoping to change that soon. Then you’ll be free.”

Aithusa’s bright blue eyes blinked at him with a clarity that no mundane beast possessed. Merlin took it as a good sign. “In the meantime,” he said, smiling softly as he tapped a finger on his book, “I’m working on something else too. Maybe if I’m smart and a bit lucky, you won’t be going out into the world alone. Maybe you’ll have some brothers and sisters that will join you in the skies one day.”

Aithusa chirruped, cocking his head before uncurling and slinking closer to Merlin. His snout twitched as he snuffled at the pages of the book. Merlin chuckled. “Interested? Why don’t we work on it together?”

As the infant dragon settled catlike next to his arm, Merlin poured all his focus back into his reading. He knew Aithusa still longed for the open sky, but it was for the best. Time would fly by; Merlin knew that from experience. Soon Aithusa wouldn’t have to be hidden away anymore. Hopefully, when that day came, Merlin would be able to let him go in company, no longer the last born dragon.

_Better get to work then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you all so much for reading and taking the time to leave kudos/comments; writing is its own reward, but getting to share it with others and bring them enjoyment is something extra special. 
> 
> Next installment is already in the works, maybe two-thirds written, but I've been having some trouble with a certain plot point that might require some rewriting. Minor spoilers, but the next fic is going to be rather pivotal for this series, and I want to make sure I write it well. I can't give it an exact timeline for when it'll start rolling out since I want to get the kinks ironed out first, not to mention an original project of mine that's been needing some attention, but hopefully it won't be longer than three months. I'll do my best.
> 
> Thank you all again, and I hope to see you again soon! <3


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